

















* • 





































Creed and Deed 


A SERIES OF DISCOURSES 


FELIX ADLER, Ph. D. 

)l 


epyGo kov \oy go 

— Aeschylus , Prometh. Vinct. 1 . jj6. 



NEW YORK 

Published for the ^Society for ^thicae Pultuf^e 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


1877 


5T l5H 

. As 



Copyright, 1877 


By FELIX ADLER, Ph. D. 


PREFATORY NOTICE. 


\ 


The lectures contained in the following pages 
are published by request of the society before which 
they were delivered. Those on Immortality and 
Religion have been considerably abridged and con- 
densed. The remainder have been allowed to retain 
their original form without any serious modification. 
The First Anniversary Discourse reviews the work 
of the year, and gives a brief account of the motives 
which impelled the society to organize and of the 
general animus by which its labors are directed. 
The Lecture entitled The Form of the Ideal fore- 
shadows the constructive purpose of the movement. 
The articles on The Evolution of Hebrew Religion 
and Reformed Judaism from the Popular Science 
Monthly (September y 1876) and the North American 
Review (July- August and September-October) con- 
tain the substance of several of the lectures of last 
winter’s course, and are reprinted in the appendix 
with the kind consent of the editors. Rigid adher- 
ence to the requirements of systematic exposition is 


IV 


PREFATORY NOTICE. 


neither possible nor desirable in addresses of this 
kind and has not therefore been attempted. 

In giving this volume to the public I gladly 
embrace the opportunity of expressing my sincere 
gratitude to those faithful and self-sacrificing friends 
whose indefatigable labors have gone so far to win 
for a hazardous venture the promise of assured per- 
manence and satisfactory development. 

Felix Adler. 


New York , September , 1877. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I Immortality i 

II. Religion 37 

III. The New Ideal 63 

IV. The Priest of the Ideai 76 

V. The Form of the New Ideai 90 

VI. The Religious Conservatism of Women 104 

VII. Our Consolations 118 

VIII. SpfNOZA 133 

IX. The Founder of Christianity 150 

X. The Anniversary Discourse 167 


APPENDIX. 

I. The Evolution of Hebrew Religion 183 

II. Reformed Judaism, I II 202 

III. Reformed Judaism, III 218 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CREED AND DEED. 


I. 

IMMORTALITY. 


“ Not by the Creed but by the Deed.** 


The Society which I have the privilege of 
addressing has been organized with the above for 
its motto. Some of my hearers have entirely aban- 
doned the tenets of the positive religions; others 
continue to hold them true, but are discouraged by 
the lack of spiritual force, the prominence given to 
mere externals, the barren formalism in the churches 
and synagogues. We agree in believing that the- 
ology is flourishing at the expense of religion. It 
seems to us that differences in creed are constantly 
increasing, and will continue to multiply with the 
growth and differentiation of the human intellect. 
We perceive that every attempt to settle problems 
of faith has thus far signally failed, nor can we hope 
for better results in the future. Certainty even 
with regard to the essential dogmas appears to us 
impossible. We do not therefore deny dogma, but 


2 


CREED AND DEED. 


prefer to remit it to the sphere of individual con- 
viction with which public associations should have 
no concern. Far from believing that the doctrines 
of religion as commonly taught are essential to the 
well being of society, we apprehend that the disputes 
concerning the “author of the law” have diverted 
the attention of men from the law itself, and that the 
so-called duties toward God too often interfere with 
the proper performance of our duties toward one 
another. It were better to insist less upon a right 
belief, and more upon right action. 

In order to find a common basis whereon good 
men, whether believers or unbelievers, can unite, we 
look to the moral law itself, whose certainty rests in 
the universal experience of civilized humanity. We 
shall hold questions of faith in abeyance, shall en- 
deavor to stimulate the conscience and to this end 
shall seek to awaken an interest in the grave social 
problems of our day, which need nothing so much as 
a vigorous exertion of our moral energies, in order 
to arrive at a peaceable solution. To broaden and 
deepen the ethical sentiment in ourselves, and to 
hold up to the sad realities of the times, the mirror 
of the ideal life, is the object with which we set out. 
We do not therefore delude ourselves with the hope 
that the ideal will ever be fully realized, but are con- 
vinced that in aspiring to noble ends the soul will 
take on something of the grandeur of what it truly 


IMMORTALITY. 


3 


admires. Starting with the assumption that the 
doctrines of religion are incapable of proof, it 
behooves us to show in one or more instances the 
fallacy of the arguments upon which they are com- 
monly founded, and we shall begin with the doc- 
trine of IMMORTALITY. 


In approaching our subject we are first confront- 
ed by the argument from the common consent of 
mankind. Like the belief in God, the hope of 
immortality is said to be implanted in every human 
heart, and the experience of travellers is cited to 
show that even the most barbarous races have given 
it expression in some form, however crude. Aside 
from the fact that the statement, as it stands, is 
somewhat exaggerated, we will admit that the 
belief in a future state is widely current among 
savage tribes. But the value of this testimony 
becomes extremely doubtful on closer inspection. 
A brief account of the origin of the conception of 
soul among our primitive ancestors, will make this 
plain. 

If we observe a child in its sleep, some half artic- 
ulate word, some cry or gesture occasionally reveals 
to us the vividness of the dreams with which the 
little brain is teeming. It is hardly doubtful 
that the child mistakes the visions of its dream for 


4 


CREED AND DEED. 


actual occurrences, and attaches the same reality to 
these miasmas of the stagnant night as to the clear 
prospects of daylight reason. Even the adult some- 
times finds it difficult to clear his brain of the fancies 
which occupied it in the hours of sleep. And the 
test of large experience can alone enable him to 
distinguish between fact and phantom. I call atten- 
tion to these facts, because the phenomena of sleep 
and dreams seem to offer a satisfactory clue to the 
naive theories of the lower races concerning death 
and the after life. The savage indeed is the veritable 
child-man. His ardent emotions, his crude logic, 
the eagerness with which he questions the how and 
wherefore of nature, and the comparative ease with 
which his simple understanding accepts the most 
fanciful solutions, all combine to place him on the 
level of the child. 

Aware that the body in sleep is at rest, while at 
the same time the sleeper is conscious of acting and 
suffering, visiting distant regions perhaps, conver- 
sing with friends, engaging in battle with enemies, 
the savage reasoned that there must be a man with- 
in the man, as it were, — an airy counterfeit of man 
which leaves its grosser tenement in the night, and 
in the course of its wanderings experiences whatever 
the fortunes of the dream may chance to be. 
Instances are related where the body was prema- 
turely disturbed, the inner man was prevented from 


IMMORTALITY. 


5 


returning to his envelope, and death resulted. The 
shadow cast by the human figure, an attenuated 
image of man, connected with the body and yet 
distinct from it, afforded a curious confirmation of 
this artless theory. The Basutos * affirm that a per- 
son having on one occasion incautiously approached 
the bank of a river, his shadow was seized by a 
crocodile, and he died in consequence. The story 
of shadowless or soulless men has been made famil- 
iar to modern literature by Chamisso’s well known 
tale.f The spectral man who severs his connec- 
tion with the body during sleep, remains concealed 
within it during the hours of waking, and in this 
manner, the idea of a human soul as distinct from 
the body, takes its rise4 It is easy to see how by 
extending the analogy, what we call death must 
have appeared as only another form of sleep, and 
how the theory of dreams gave rise to a belief in 
the continuance of life beyond the grave. That 
sleep and death are twin brothers, was to the prim- 
itive man more than mere metaphor. As in sleep, 
so in death, the body is at rest, but as in sleep, so 

* The dream theory seems to be the one generally adopted by 
writers on primitive culture. For an extended account of this sub- 
ject vide the works of Tylor, Lubbock and Bastian, from which the 
illustrations given in the text are taken. 

f Peter Schlemihl. 

I The soul was believed to be corporeal in nature, only more 
vague and shadowy than the framework of the body, and distinguished 
by greater swiftness of locomotion. 


6 


CREED AND DEED. 


also in death, a shade was supposed to go forth capa- 
ble of acting and suffering, and yearning to return 
to its former condition. The apparitions of the 
deceased seen at night by the friends they had left 
behind, were taken to be real visitations, and cor- 
roborated the assumption of the continued existence 
of the departed. The ghosts of the dead were dream- 
ing phantoms, debarred from permanently returning 
to their abandoned bodies. 

The view we have taken of the origin of the 
conception of soul is greatly strengthened when we 
consider the thoroughly material character of the 
ghost’s life after death. The ghost continues to be 
liable to hunger, pain, cold, as before. But the living 
have shut it out from their communion ; in conse- 
quence it hates its former companions, persecutes 
them where it can, and wreaks its vengeance upon 
them when they are least prepared to resist it. In a 
certain district of Germany it was believed that the 
dead person, when troubled by the pangs of hunger, 
begins by gnawing its shroud until that is com- 
pletely devoured, then rising from the grave, it 
stalks through the village and in the shape of a 
vampire, sits upon the children in their cradles, and 
sucks their blood. When sated with the hideous 
feast, it returns to the churchyard to renew its visits 
on the succeeding nights. In order to hinder them 
from using their jaws, it was customary to place 


IMMORTALITY. 


7 


stones or coins into the mouths of the dead before 
burial and the most grotesque devices were resorted 
to, to prevent the much dreaded return of the deni- 
zens of the tomb. In the middle ages the corpse 
was often spiked down to hinder its rising. Among 
the Hottentots a hole was broken into the wall, 
through which the corpse was carried from the 
house, and then carefully covered up, it being the 
prevailing superstition, that the dead can only 
reenter by the same way in which they have pre- 
viously made their exit. Among a certain negro 
tribe of Africa, the path from the house to the grave 
was strewn with thorns, in the hope that the ghost 
would find the path too painful, and desist. As late 
as 1861, it occurred in a village in Gallicia, that the 
ghost of a dead peasant was found to pursue the 
living, and the inhabitants rushing out to the grave 
fearfully mutilated the body, to prevent it from 
committing further injury.' 

The same conception, from a more charitable 
point of view, led to the institution of regular meals 
for the ghosts at stated intervals. In North-eastern 
India, after the body has been consigned to its final 
resting-place, a friend of the deceased steps forward, 
and holding food and drink in his hand, speaks the 
following suggestive words, “ Take and eat ; hereto- 
fore you have eaten and drunk with us, you can do 
so no more ; you were one of us, you can be so no 


8 


CREED AND DEED. 


longer ; we come no more to you ; come you not to 
us.” In Eastern Africa, the Wanicas are accustomed 
to fill a cocoa-nut shell with rice and tembo, and 
place it near the grave. In the Congo district, a 
channel is dug into the grave leading to the mouth 
of the corpse, by which means food and drink are 
duly conveyed. The sense of decorum impels cer- 
tain Turanian tribes to place not only food, but 
even napkins, on the graves of their relatives. We 
cannot resist the temptation of quoting the following 
passage from Mr. Tylor’s graphic account of the 
manner in which the Chinese feast their ghostly 
visitors. “ Some victuals are left over for any blind 
or feeble spirit who may be late, and a pail of gruel 
is provided for headless souls, with spoons for them 
to put it down their throats with. Such proceedings 
culminate in the so-called Universal Rescue, now 
and then celebrated, when a little house is built for 
the expected visitors, with separate accommodations, 
and bath rooms for male and female ghosts.” * In 
the Alpach Valley of Tyrol, ghosts released from 
purgatory on the night of All Souls, return to the 
houses of the peasantry. A light is left burning in 
the dining room, and a certain cake, prepared for 
the occasion, is placed upon the table for their delec- 
tation, also a pot of grease for the poor souls to 
anoint their wounds with. 


* Tylor, Primitive Culture, ii, p. 34. 


IMMORTALITY. 


9 


Occasionally, to obviate the necessity of con- 
tinued attendance upon the dead, a single sumptuous 
feast is provided immediately after their demise, 
and this is believed to cancel their claims once for 
all. In this manner arose the custom of funerai 
banquets. In England, in the fifteenth century, a 
noisy revel of three days’ duration attended the 
obsequies of Sir John Paston. The so-called Irish 
wake originated in the same way. After the first 
outbreaks of grief have subsided, meat and drink 
are brought in, chiefly the latter, and what was at 
first intended for a parting entertainment to the 
dead, often ends in the boisterous excesses of the 
living. 

It is here proper to remark that the savage 
tribes who believe in an after existence, do not in 
many instances claim this privilege for themselves 
alone, but share it willingly with the lower animals 
and even with inanimate objects. Weapons, uten- 
sils, and even victuals — have their ghostly repre- 
sentatives like men. When a great chief dies, his 
widow is often forced by public opinion to follow 
him to the grave, in order that the departed brave 
may not be wifeless in the hereafter. But besides 
the widow, his horse, his war-club, his girdle, his 
favorite trinkets are buried or burned with him to 
serve his use or vanity in spectre-land. 

From what has preceded, it must be clear that 


10 


CREED AND DEED. 


the savage’s conception of a ghost bears but a faint 
and distant resemblance to the idea of soul, as it 
became current in the schools of philosophy ; nor 
can the latter derive support from the ignorant rea- 
sonings, the hasty inductions of primitive man. On 
the lower levels of culture the idea of immortality 
indeed is quite unknown. If the ghost continues 
its shadowy existence after death, it is none the 
less liable to come to an abrupt end, and then noth- 
ing whatever of its former substance remains ; it 
is a pale, filmy thing, exposed to the inroads of the 
hostile elements, surrounded by numerous dangers, 
to which it may at any moment succumb. In the 
Tonga Islands only the souls of the well-born are 
supposed to survive at all. The common people 
have no souls worth speaking of, and when they die, 
are completely extinguished. Theghbsts of Guinea 
negroes are compelled to approach the bank of the 
terrible river of death. Some of them are there- 
upon wafted across to lead pleasant lives on the op- 
posite side, others are drowned in the stream, or 
beaten to atoms with a club. With the Fijians it 
is always a matter of doubt whether a soul will suc- 
ceed at all in maintaining its feeble existence after 
it has left its protecting house of sinew and bone. 
But they open a peculiarly dismal prospect to wife- 
less souls. Nanananga, a fierce demoniac being, 
watches for them on the shore as they approach, 


IMMORTALITY. 


II 


and dashes them to pieces upon the rocks. The 
Greenlanders affirm that after death the soul enters 
upon a long, lone journey over a mountain full of 
precipitous descents, covered with ice and snow. 
The storms howl about its path, and every step is 
fraught with pain and danger. If any harm hap- 
pens to the poor wanderer here, then it dies “ the 
other death ” from which there is no re-awakening. 

In the theories of a future state, as devised by 
the lower races, we are at a loss to detect the germs 
of any more spiritual longings. Far from looking 
forward with pleased anticipation or confidence to 
the world to come, the barbarian shuddered as he 
thought of his approaching end, and was loath to 
exchange the white and sunny world for the dreary 
companionship of luckless shades. The life that 
awaited him was not in the majority of instances a 
better or a higher life than this ; not free from the 
limitations of sense ; no larger perfecting of what 
is here dwarfed and crippled ; it was lower, poorer, 
meaner; it was to the present, what the pressed 
flower is to the full-blown rose ; the same in sub- 
stance, indeed, but with its beauty perished, and its 
joyous fragrance evanesced. 

The argument from the common consent of 
mankind in truth deserves no serious attention.* 

* The doctrine of spiritual immortality is not common to the human 
race. The material life of the ghost bears no analogy to what we 


12 


CREED AND DEED. 


The argument cannot be substantiated, it would 
prove nothing, if it could. The general concurrence 
of the whole human race in any form of error would 
not make that error less erroneous, and the testi- 
mony of united millions against a solitary thinker 
might kick the beam when balanced in the scales 
of truth. 


When we behold an ignorant knave squandering 
his ill-gotten gains on superfluities, while honest 
people are famishing for want of the necessaries ; 
when we see the unscrupulous politician outstrip- 
ping the deserving statesman, in the race for fame 
and station; when modest merit shrinks in corners, 
and the native royalty of talent plays courtier to 
the kings of lucre, we are reminded of the complaint 
of Job, that the bad prosper, and the righteous are 
down-trodden, yet that they sleep together in the 
dust and the worm covers them alike. 

This evident disparity between virtue and happi- 
ness has led men to take refuge in the thought of 
compensation hereafter, and the necessity of a 
future state in which the good shall be rewarded, 
and the evil punished, according to the verdict of a 
just judge, has been deduced even from the appar- 
ent injustice of the present. Thus the very imper- 

mean by the soul’s continuance. The continuance of the ghost’s exist- 
ence is not an immortal continuance. 


IMMORTALITY. 


13 


fections of our own life on earth, afford a pretext 
for the most ambitious conceptions of human 
destiny. 

The argument from the necessity of reward and 
punishment is extremely popular among the uned- 
ucated, since it appeals ostensibly to their sense of 
justice and assures them that by the aid of Divine 
omnipotence, a full correspondence between worthi- 
ness and happiness, though vainly expected here, 
will be established in another sphere. It behooves 
us to enquire whether there is anything in the 
nature of virtue, that demands a correspondence of 
this kind. 

The philosopher Epicurus was perhaps the first 
among the ancients to take strong ground in favor 
of the utilitarian view of virtue. Pleasure, he holds, 
is the purpose of existence, and virtue is thus re- 
duced to enlightened self-interest. There are differ- 
ent kinds of pleasure ; pleasures of the senses and of 
the soul. Epicurus points out that the former can- 
not be considered true pleasures, since they defeat 
their own end, blunting the capacity of enjoyment 
in proportion as they are indulged, and incapable 
of affording permanent satisfaction. Himself a 
man of refined tastes and fastidious habits, he 
shrank from the very coarseness of the passions, 
and counselled moderation, friendship and benevo- 
lence. But he refused to recognize in these virtues 


H 


CREED AND DEED. 


any intrinsic value of their own, and lauded them 
only because in contrast to the lower appetites, the 
enjoyment they afford is lasting and constantly 
increases with their exercise. It is easy to perceive 
that when the moral law is thus stripped of its 
authority to command, the choice between duty 
and inclination will be governed by fortuitous pref- 
erences, and not by principle. It then remains for 
each individual to decide what form of pleasure may 
be most congenial to his temper and desires. The 
philosopher will value the delights of contemplative 
ease, and of kindly communion with his fellow-men; 
the passionate youth may hold that a single deep 
draught from the chalice of sensual pleasure is worth 
more than a whole lifetime of neutral self-restraint ; 
“ eat and drink” will be his motto; “remote conse- 
quences — who knows? To-morrow we may die.” 

Moreover the doctrine of enlightened self-interest 
has this fatal objection to it, that if consistently 
applied, at least among the powerful of the earth, it 
would lead to consequences the very reverse of 
moral. It is but too true that honesty is not always 
the best policy ; that fraud and violence, when per- 
petrated on a scale of sufficient magnitude, (instance 
the division of unfortunate Poland,) are not always 
punished as they deserve to be. Far from teaching 
the tyrant to subdue his baser instincts, enlightened 
self-interest might rather lead him to stifle the 


IMMORTALITY. 


15 


accusing voice of conscience, and to root out the 
scruples that interfere with his ambition. Unless 
we concede that the moral law has a claim upon us 
which the constitution of our nature does not per- 
mit us to deny with impunity, and that its pleasures 
differ, not only in degree, but in kind, from all 
others, virtue, while a necessity to the weak, becomes 
folly in the strong; and Napoleon, that gigantic 
egotist, was correct, when he called love a silly in- 
fatuation, and sentiment a thing for women. 

The principles of Epicurus not only adulterate 
the motives of goodness with the desire of reward, 
but they make the reward of desire the very sanc- 
tion of all virtue, and thus deprive human nature of 
its best title to nobility. 

Truly disinterestedness is the distinguishing 
mark of every high endeavor. The pursuit of the 
artist is unselfish, the beauty he creates is his 
reward. The toil of the scientist in the pur- 
suit of abstract truth is unselfish, the truth he 
sees is his reward. Why should we hesitate to 
acknowledge in the domain of ethics, what we con- 
cede in the realm of art and science? To say that 
unselfishness itself is only the more refined expres- 
sion of a selfish instinct, is to use the term selfish 
with a double meaning, is a mere empty play on 
words. We have the innate need of harmony in 
the moral relations ; this is our glory, and the stamp 


i6 


CREED AND DEED. 


of the Divine upon our nature. We cannot demon- 
strate the existence of disinterested motives, any 
more than we can demonstrate that there is joy in 
the sunlight and freedom in the mountain breeze. 
The fact that we demand unselfishness in action 
alone assures us that the standard of enlightened 
self-interest is false. 

And indeed if we consult the opinions of men, 
where they are least likely to be warped by sophis- 
try, we shall find that disinterestedness is the uni- 
versal criterion by which moral worth is measured. 
If we suspect the motive we condemn the act. If a 
person gives largely for some object of public useful 
ness or charity, we do not permit the munificence 
of the gift to deceive our judgment. Perhaps he is 
merely desirous of vaunting his wealth, perhaps it 
is social standing he aims at, perhaps he is covetous 
of fame. If these suspicions prove well founded, 
the very men who accept his bounty will in their 
secret hearts despise him, and by a certain revulsion 
of feeling we shall resent his action all the more, 
because, not only is he destitute of honorable pur- 
pose, but he has filched the fair front of virtue, and 
defiled the laurel even in the wearing of it. 

We do not even accord the name of goodness to 
that easy, amiable sympathy which leads us to 
alleviate the sufferings of others, unless it be 
guided by wise regard for their permanent welfare 


IMMORTALITY. 


17 


The tattered clothes, the haggard looks, the piteous 
pleading voice of the pauper on the public highway- 
may awaken our pity, but the system of indiscrim- 
inate alms-giving is justly condemned as a weakness 
rather than a virtue. 

On the other hand obedience to duty, when it 
involves pain and self-abnegation, seems to rise in 
the general estimation. Clearly because in this 
instance even the suspicion of interested motives 
is removed, since hardship, injury in estate and 
happiness, and even the possible loss of life, are 
among the foreseen consequences of the act. It is 
for this reason that the Book of Martyrs has become 
the golden book of mankind, and that the story of 
their lives never fails to fill us with mingled sorrow, 
and admiration, and pride. They are monuments 
on the field of history, milestones on the path of 
human progress. We regard them and gain new 
courage and confidence in our better selves. The 
blazing pyre on the Campo Fiore, whereon Giordano 
Bruno breathes his last, becomes a beacon-light for 
the truth-seeker; the dying Socrates still pours 
benignant peace over many a sufferer’s couch ; the 
Man of sorrows, on Calvary, comforts the hearts of 
the Christian millions. In the presence of these 
high examples the inadequacy of the selfish standard 
becomes clearly apparent. We recognize what a 
sublime quality that is in man which enables him, 


is 


CREED AND DEED. 


not only to triumph over torment and suffering, but 
to devote his very self to destruction for the sake of 
honor and truth. Freely must virtue be wooed, 
not for the dowry she may bring ; by loyal 
devotion to her for her own sake only, can she be 
won ! 

If thus it appears that not only is there nothing 
in the nature of virtue to warrant a claim to reward, 
but that it is her very nature to disclaim any reward, 
it will become plain that the problem, as stated in 
the beginning, rests upon an entirely false foun- 
dation. That the unrighteous and unprincipled 
should enjoy temporal happiness, does not offend 
the law of justice. That you, my good sir, honest 
in all your dealings, truthful in all your acts, should 
be unhappy, is greatly to be deplored. Why evil 
and unhappiness should have been allowed at all to 
enter a world created by an all good and all power- 
ful Being may fairly be asked. Why those who 
possess the treasure of a clear conscience should not 
also possess the lesser goods of earth, is a question 
with which morality is in no wise concerned. 

Virtue can have no recompense, save as it is 
its own recompense, and vice can receive no real 
punishment save as it is its own avenger. The 
hope of immortality, in so far as it is based upon 
the supposed necessity of righting in a future 
state what is here wrong, is therefore untenable, 


IMMORTALITY. 


r 9 


for it is based upon the assumption of a wrong 
which exists in the imagination merely. And he 
who claims a reward because of his virtue, has 
thereby forfeited his right to maintain the claim, 
since that is not virtue, which looks for reward . 


Having endeavored to show that the joys of 
earth cannot be claimed as the recompense of a 
moral life, we must yet admit that the desire of 
happiness is altogether too strong and deep seated 
in human nature to be thus summarily dismissed. 
We seek happiness on its own account quite apart 
from any title which virtue may give us to its 
enjoyment. Were we created for misery? Does 
not the poverty and general unsatisfactorines-s of 
our present condition warrant us in expecting 
ampler fulfilment, permanent bliss in an after life? 
I think we shall derive some assistance in discussing 
this question, by attempting to resolve the concep- 
tion of happiness into its constituent elements. 

Pleasure has been defined to consist in the satis- 
faction of any of man’s natural wants. The variety 
of our pleasures corresponds to the diversity of our 
wants. 

Food to the hungry, rest to the weary, are sour- 
ces of pleasure. To feel on some cold wintry day 
the genial warmth of tire hearth fire creeping into 


20 


CREED AND DEED. 


our blood, and the frozen limbs relaxing their stiff- 
ness, is pleasure. All men admire the beautiful and 
delight in adornment. Even the rude savage seeks 
to gratify his aesthetic tastes, so far as the means 
which nature places at his command permit. The 
custom of tattooing the skin is widely practiced 
among the lower races, and stars and circles, trees 
and plants, and other ingenious devices are impressed 
with laborious patience upon the different members 
of the body. The chiefs of the Fiji Islanders, a 
nude and cannibal race, are represented as wearing 
an elaborate head-dress of three and even five feet 
in dimensions, and were accustomed to spend 
several hours each day, under the care of the royal 
hair-dresser. Among civilized men the desire for 
adornment finds vent chiefly in external objects, 
while every coarse solicitation of attention to the 
person is shunned. Tastily decorated houses, 
flowers, paintings, music, gratify our sense of sym- 
metry, and spread an atmosphere of culture and 
refinement in the vicinity of our daily occupations. 

But there are deeper and purer joys in reserve. 
Man is eminently a social being ; he has the need 
of sympathy and depends upon the affections of his 
fellows. The presence of cherished companions 
and friends becomes a necessity to him ; in absence 
he yearns for it, and the lack of it is one of the 
most serious afflictions of human life. “ Woe unto 


IMMORTALITY. 


21 


him who, far from parents and loved kinsmen, a 
lonely life must lead. His present joys devouring 
grief doth snatch. His thoughts are ever straying 
in the distance back to his father’s hall, where the 
sun of life first rose upon him, and where children 
of the common home, playfully, with gentle bonds, 
close and closer drew their hearts together.” * The 
tranquil delight which we derive from the enlarge- 
ment of intellect, and the exquisite inward satis- 
faction that results from high, fidelity to duty, may 
be mentioned as the last to crown the scale of 
pleasures. 

Now, it is evident that all these elements of 
happiness, these diverse rays that nowhere melt into 
the perfect light, are dependent upon the physical 
organization of man, such as it is, even for their 
partial attainment ; of the lower pleasures, this is 
at once evident. But a little reflection will show the 
same to be the case with the higher. If we consider 
the aesthetic faculty, we find its gratification con- 
ditioned by a physical basis. What were music 
without the ear ; what the symmetry of form, with- 
out the eye and touch ? The intellect, in its turn, 
fashions the rough timber of experience, which an 
ever flowing stream of sensation carries into the 
workshop of the brain. Can the mind feed upon 
itself? Can the laws of thought act otherwise 


Goethe, Iphigenie auf Tauris, Act I. 


22 


CREED AND DEED. 


than upon the material afforded by the senses ? The 
same is also true with respect to our moral qualities, 
and the exercise of the virtues is inconceivable 
beyond the pale of human society. All virtue pre- 
supposes a tendency to err ; the failings and limita- 
tions of our mortal condition. Justice is the 
adjustment of limitations common to all men in 
such manner that their stress shall not bear more 
heavily upon one than upon the other. Love is 
the expansion of one limited nature in another and 
their mutual enrichment by such union. Charity, 
fortitude, continence, whatever we applaud in 
human conduct, is but an indirect testimony to the 
natural imperfections inherent in the human heart, 
and is accounted admirable only in so far as it tends 
to ensure the best interests of the race on earth. 
When therefore this body is corrupted, when we 
depart from out the fellowship of men, the gratifica- 
tion of the appetites, the enjoyment of beauty, the 
exercise of reason, and the practice of virtue 
become alike unthinkable. 

We desire larger happiness than we can here 
achieve ; but because we desire a thing, are we 
therefore at all warranted in believing that we shall 
obtain it? Is the course of the world’s affairs such 
as to encourage so flattering an hypothesis ? Is 
not the fatality that so often attends our best 
efforts in this life, an argument against, rather than 


IMMORTALITY. 


23 


in favor of increasing felicity in another? We 
should assume a wiser attitude as against fate. 
There are those who fret under disappointment, 
and murmur and rebel as if they had been defrauded 
of a right ; as if they had entered into a compact 
with destiny to their advantage, as if the myriad 
worlds moved through space for their especial good. 
This is an insane spirit. We need something of 
the vim of stoicism to grapple with the difficulties 
of life ; we need to cultivate a larger patience ; an 
humble spirit prepared for every loss, and welcom- 
ing every hour of joy as an unlooked for gain. 
There are a thousand pleasures too in little things 
which we, with the petulance of children, daily 
spurn, because we cannot have all we ask for. In 
every stone there is instruction, in every varying 
aspect of the sky there is beauty, wherever men 
congregate and commune, lessons of wisdom are 
revealed to th'e observer. The movement of 
everlasting laws quivers in the meanest trifles, and 
the eternities, thinly veiled, look out upon us with 
their solemn gaze from every passing mask of time. 
These let us study ; art will help us ; science will 
open to us a wondrous chain of workings which the 
mind cannot exhaust, and active exertions for the 
common weal will give a generous glow to our lives, 
and still the unquiet yearnings which we may never 
entirely set at rest. You have seen how the flowers 


24 


CREED AND DEED. 


grow, how that many seeds are scattered and but 
few take root ; how the germ slowly and with diffi- 
culty develops. The rain waters it. the warm sun- 
beam fosters it ; storms sweeping over the earth, 
may crush it while it is still a young and tender 
shoot. At last, sometimes after years of prepara- 
tion, it buds and opens and blooms and becomes a 
delight and a glory, a fount of fragrance, a crown of 
beauty. A few days pass and it droops ; what the 
long process of time has slowly created, a single 
moment may suffice to destroy ; and yet though its 
time was brief, the flower fulfilled its nature only in 
that passing bloom ; all the previous stages of its 
existence had a meaning only as they led up to this, 
the final revelation of its purpose. 

The bloom of human life is morality ; whatever 
else we may possess, health, and wealth, power, 
grace, knowledge, have a value only as they lead up 
to this ; have a meaning only as they make this 
possible. Nor should we complain that the blight 
of death so quickly withers what the course of three- 
score years has scarce sufficed to produce. In the 
hour of our destruction, we will lift up our hearts in 
triumph — we have blossomed ! We have blossomed ! 

But it will be said, that the flower when it is 
wilted and withered here, may be transplanted to 
fairer regions ; that the soul may take on new 
organs, when it has abandoned its earthly habitation, 


IMMORTALITY. 


25 


and in a series of transformations of which, it is true, 
we can form no definite conception, may enter 
afresh upon its struggles for worthiness in other 
spheres. This is, indeed, the loftiest expression 
which the hope of immortality has found. Unlike 
the arguments previously considered, it is unalloyed 
by any selfish motive, is founded upon a really 
exalted sentiment, and it is Love and Virtue them- 
selves that here take up the strain, and sing us their 
animating song of ceaseless progress toward the 
good. The argument in this shape, involves the 
further question whether the existence of an inde- 
pendent and indestructible soul is assured, and upon 
this point the whole problem of immortality finally 
hinges. 


The question whether what we are accustomed 
to call the soul is a distinct and indivisible entity, or 
merely the result of material processes, has divided 
mankind for more than two thousand years, and 
some of the ablest thinkers have ranged themselves 
on either side. As early as the fifth century B. C. 
the philosopher Democritus propounded material- 
istic doctrines among the Greeks. According to 
him, the soul is a combination of smooth, round, 
polished and moving atoms, and to the motions of 
these atoms the phenomena of life are to be ascribed. 
2 


26 


CREED AND DEED. 


Among the Romans, Lucretius advanced similar 
views. He took particular pains to combat the 
“ vulgar fear of death,” protesting that the prospect 
of dissolution would lose its terrors, did we not 
foolishly imagine ourselves conscious of being dead, 
forgetting that death implies the entire cessation of 
consciousness. The followers of materialistic opin- 
ions among the ancients, were not a few. But during 
the ascendancy of the Christian Church, these opin- 
ions retired into the background, until in the seven- 
teenth and eighteenth centuries, they were revived by 
such men as Gassendi and La Mettrie, and others. 
In modern times they have been widely spread. 

The list of names on the opposite side is headed 
by Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and embraces the 
great majority of writers and public teachers, down 
to the present day. 

It may appear strange that when the belief in 
immortality had once become current, men should 
have been tempted to forego its pleasing prospects, 
and even, with a certain vehemence, to urge their 
sceptical views upon others. Let us consider for 
a moment, what it was that induced the materialists 
to assume their position. The observed corre- 
spondence between mental and physical phenomena 
doubtless led them in the first instance to adopt 
their peculiar views. 

We see in the tiny body of the new born babe, 


IMMORTALITY. 


2 7 


barely more than the faint stirrings of animal life ; 
months pass by before it is able to form any clear 
conception of the persons and things in its vicinity, 
the simpler mental processes appearing simultane- 
ously with the growth of the bodily organs. The 
intellect reaches its highest development in the 
age of manhood and womanhood, when we stand 
in the maturity of our physical powers. In that 
middle age of life lies, with rare exceptions, the 
best work we are destined to accomplish. Having 
entered upon the downward slope, our faculties 
gradually lose their vigor, until we sink into the 
final stage of drivelling old age, and become feeble 
in mind, as we are helpless in body. In this 
manner the close connection between our spiritual 
and material parts, is brought home forcibly, even 
to the unreflecting ; as the one enlarges so does the 
other: as the one diminishes so does the other: 
together they increase, together they are weakened ; 
the inference is drawn, shall it not be, that together 
they will perish ? 

The phenomena of sleep and of coma seem to 
convey the same lesson. A haze steals over our 
consciousness ; sometimes settling into impenetra- 
ble night ; as the body for a time wears the sem- 
blance of death, so also is the mind stupefied or 
completely paralyzed. Hours pass by ; in the inter- 
val, the business of the world has gone on as before, M 


28 


CREED AND DEED. 


but to us there has been only a void and utter 
blank. And thus it is said shall there be a void and 
a blank in the tomb ; time will pass by, and we shall 
not know it ; men will move and act and we shall 
be none the wiser for it ; it will be all like sleep, 
only that there will be no dreams. 

And again when some malignant fever seizes 
upon the body and corrupts the currents of the 
blood, how do the poor disordered thoughts dance 
about wildly, driven by the lash of the distemper ; 
how does the use of stimulants besot the intellect, 
so that every higher power is deadened ; how in the 
wild ravings of the diseased brain, do we behold the 
hideous mockery of mind. 

And does not the grave itself testify loudly that 
the end is an end indeed ; the body falls to pieces, 
the dust commingles with the dust, and nothing 
remains, nothing at least of which we can ever 
have experience. Right or wrong, these facts im- 
press the mind, and their leaden weight serves to 
drag down our aspirations. 

It is true, the considerations I have enumerated 
are based upon a mere surface view of things, but 
the more accurate methods of science seem, at first 
sight, to confirm the general conclusions to which 
they lead. On this point, it would be well to dwell 
for a moment. John Stuart Mill acknowledges 
that “the evidence is well-nigh complete that all 


IMMORTALITY. 


29 


thought and feeling has some action of the bodily 
organism for its immediate coincident and accom- 
paniment, and that the specific variations, and es- 
pecially the different degrees of complication of the 
nervous and cerebral organism, correspond to differ- 
ences in the development of our mental faculties.” 

The prodigious difficulties in the way of the 
study of the brain may long retard the progress of 
the investigator, but for the purposes of our argu- 
ment we are at liberty to assume whatever is within 
the limits of possible achievement. We may sup- 
pose that physiology will succeed so far that the 
brain will be accurately and completely mapped 
out, and that the motions of the atoms upon which 
the thousand varying modes of thought and feeling 
depend, will be known and measured. In antici- 
pating such results, we have reached the utmost 
tenable position of materialism. 

But now to our surprise we discover that all this 
being allowed, the ultimate question, what is soul, 
remains still unsolved and as insoluble as ever. 
The unvarying coincidence of certain modes of soul 
with certain material processes may be within the 
range of proof, but what cannot be proven is, that 
these material processes explain the psychic phe- 
nomena. 

If it is urged that the same difficulty presents 
itself in the explanation of the most ordinary occur- 


CREED AND DEED. 


30 

rences, this objection is based upon a misapprehen- 
sion of the point at issue. 

The scientist cannot show why heat should be 
convertible into motion, but how it is thus trans- 
formed is easy to demonstrate, and the exact me- 
chanical equivalent of heat has been calculated. But 
how certain motions of atoms in the brain should 
generate, not heat, but consciousness, but thought 
and love, is past all conception. There are here two 
different orders of facts, having no common princi- 
ple to which they could both be reduced. There is 
an impassable gulf between them which can in no- 
wise be bridged over. 

Nor would it avail us to endow the atom itself 
with the promise and potency of intellect ; we should 
thereby throw back the issue a step further, and dis- 
guise the problem whose existence it were better to 
plainly acknowledge. The broad fact of conscious- 
ness therefore remains unexplained and inexplicable 
as before. Arrived at this limit, science itself pauses 
and refuses to pass further. 

Some of the leading naturalists of our day have 
lately expressed themselves clearly and tersely in 
this sense. The eminent physiologist Dubois Rey- 
mond denies that the connection between certain mo- 
tions of certain atoms in the brain, and what he calls, 
the primal, undefinable and undeniable facts of con- 
sciousness, is at all conceivable. Professor Tyndall 


IMMORTALITY. 


3 l 


in his address on “The scope and limits of Scientific 
Materialism,” explains his views with similar precis- 
ion. Were our minds so expanded, strengthened 
and illuminated as to enable us to see and feel the 
very molecules of the brain ; were we capable of fol- 
lowing all their motions, all their groupings, all their 
electric discharges, if such there be ; and were we 
intimately acquainted w ith the corresponding states 
of thought and feeling, we should be as far as ever 
from the solution of the problem. How are these 
physical processes connected by and with the facts 
of consciousness ? I do not think the materialist 
is entitled to say that his molecular groupings and 
his molecular motions explain everything, in real- 
ity they explain nothing. . . The problem of 

body and soul is as insoluble in its modern form as 
it was in the pre-scientific ages.” 

Now since it is impossible to demonstrate that 
the powers of mind are a product of matter, the pos- 
sibility undoubtedly remains that these powers may 
continue to exist even after their connection with 
the physical organism has been dissolved. If all the 
arguments that are commonly adduced' in support 
of the doctrine of a future life fall short of their ob- 
ject, it is but just to add that every argument to the 
contrary is equally devoid of foundation. The doc- 
trine of immortality cannot be disproved. Of the 
nature of soul we are in absolute ignorance ; we 


32 


CREED AND DEED. 


know nothing ; what is more, we can know nothing. 
At this point we touch the utmost boundary of hu- 
man reason, and must be content to write mystery 
of mysteries. 

In the state of settled uncertainty to which we 
are thus reduced, the shape of our opinions will be 
determined by the bias of our natures or the influ- 
ence of education. The sceptic will remind us of the 
points in which we resemble all the perishable forms 
of nature and hold it improbable that we alone should 
escape the universal law of dissolution. Others will 
cling to the hope of continued life, even on the brink 
of the graye, and the strong instinct of self preserva- 
tion will give tone and color to their religious beliefs. 
Deep philosophical speculations are possible as to that 
ultimate source of being, that hidden light of which 
both matter and mind are diverse reflections. And 
here too poetry assumes its legitimate office. On the 
mists that cover the infinite abyss, we may project 
whatever images, foul or fair, we list. Science you 
may be sure will never disturb us. Dogmatic asser- 
tion however, on either side is totally unwarranted : 
and the question of immortality (I think we must 
sooner or later make up our minds to that) will 
remain an open one. Certain, only, is the fact of our 
uncertainty. 

If the conclusions to which we have thus been 
led, seem purely negative in their bearings, they are 


IMMORTALITY. 


33 


none the Jess capable of certain positive applications, 
which deserve our serious attention. The longing 
for immortality has been developed into a morbid 
craving under the influence of the current religious 
teachings, and has become a disturbing element in 
human society. On more than one occasion it has 
imperilled the peace of nations, and the doctrines of 
salvation became the watchwords of contending ar- 
mies. The doubtful chances of eternal felicity or 
damnation became the one absorbing topic on 
which men’s minds dwelt, and the wild horrors of the 
Christian Hell have cast a gloom over many an in- 
nocent life, and curtailed the scant measure of its 
earthly happiness. It were something gained, if by 
a cool and dispassionate judgment the influence of 
these dismal fantasies could be lessened, and men 
be freed from their slavish subjection to phantoms 
born of their own distempered imaginations. 

Furthermore, it follows from what we have said 
that the belief in immortality should not be incul- 
cated as a dogma in our schools of religion, and 
above all that the dictates of the moral law should 
in no wise be made to depend upon it for their sanc- 
tion. The moral law is the common ground upon 
which all religious and in fact all true men may meet. 
It is the one basis of union that remains to us amid 
the clashing antagonisms of the sects. While dog- 
ma is by its nature, open to attack, and its accep- 


34 


CKEED AND DEED. 


tance at all times a matter of choice, the principles of 
morality have a right to demand implicit obedience, 
and should rest as everlasting verities in the human 
heart. Let us reflect well before we imperil the lat- 
ter by the undue prominence which we give the 
former. It is not needful to impart to a child the 
whole truth, but what it learns should be wholly 
true, and nothing should be taught it as a funda- 
mental fact which it can ever in after years be led to 
call in question. How often has it occurred that 
when the riper reason of the man has rejected the 
tenets of the church in which he was educated, he 
has been tempted to cast aside all the religious 
teachings of his youth, the moral with the rest, as 
idle fable and deceit. 

And lastly, friends, as we do not, cannot know, 
it is presumably wise that we should not know. 
The vanity of all our efforts to grasp the infinite, 
should teach us that on this island of time whereon 
we live, lies our work. In its joys we may freely 
take delight ; for its woes we should reserve our 
sympathies, and in laboring to advance the progress 
of the good we must find our satisfaction. 

Before closing this subject however let us recall 
vividly to our minds that the desire for continuance 
after death is capable of the most noble expression, 
and of supplying us with wholesome consolation and 
inspiriting motives to action. The individual passes, 


IMMORTALITY. 35 

but the race lives ! There is a law in nature that no 
force is ever lost. The thousand varying forms that 
ebb and flow around us are various only to our feeble 
vision. At the core they are one, transmuted, yet 
the same, changing yet changeless, perishing to rise 
anew. The law of the conservation of energy holds 
good throughout the entire domain of matter. And 
such a law too obtains in our spiritual life. The 
law of the conservation of moral energy is no less an 
abiding truth ; we are not dust merely, that returns 
to dust ; we are not summer flies that bask in the 
sunshine of the passing day ; we are not bounded in 
our influence by the narrow tenure of our years. Say 
not when the sod has closed above those who have 
been dear to you that all is gone. Say not that the 
grace and loveliness, and wisdom that once dwelt 
within the pallid form is breathed away like a hollow 
wind. Nor yet stand idly gazing upon the cloud- 
land of the future, watching if you can trace per- 
chance their shadowy lineaments fading into the 
dimness of untried worlds. The dead are not dead if 
we have loved them truly. In our own lives we give 
them immortality. Let us arise and take up the 
work they have left unfinished, and preserve the 
treasures they have won, and round out the circuit 
of their being to the fullness of an ampler orbit in 
our own. 

All the good that was in them lives in you, the 


36 


CREED AND DEED. 


germ and nucleus of the better that shall be. All the 
evil that inhered in them shall be cleansed away in 
you and your virtues shall be the atonement for their 
sins. Thus shall the fathers live in the children, and 
from generation to generation the bond that con- 
nects the past with the future remains unbroken. 
They that have left you are not afar ; their presence 
is near and real, a silent and august companionship. 
In the still hours of meditation; under the starlit 
night, in the stress of action, in trials and tempta- 
tions, you will hear their voices whispering words 
of cheer or warning, and your deeds are their deeds 
and your lives are their lives. 

So does the light of other days still shine in the 
bright hued flowers that clothe our fields ; so do they 
who are long since gathered into the silent city of 
the dead still move about our houses, distributing 
kindness and nobleness among our lives. So does 
the toll of the funeral bell become an alarum to rouse 
us to more active effort and to the nobler service of 
mankind. 


IT. 


RELIGION. 

The question, Have we still a religion, pro- 
pounded by David Friedrich Strauss some few years 
ago, will long engage the attention of radical 
thinkers. It is clear that to answer it satisfactorily 
we must determine, in the first instance, what 
meaning ought rightly to be attached to the term 
religion. In common parlance, it is often used 
with reference to mere externals, a religious person 
being one who conforms to the rites and usages of 
some particular church. On the other hand, every 
innovation in the sphere of doctrine is branded as 
irreligious. Thus Luther was deemed irreligious 
by the Catholics ; St. Boniface by the heathen 
Germans, Jesus by the Jews, Elijah by the servants 
of Baal. There is not any single form, nor even a 
single fundamental principle common to all reli- 
gions. Religion is not identical with theology. It 
is indeed often maintained that the belief in a per- 
sonal God should be regarded as the foundation and 
criterion of religion ; but upon this assumption, two 
facts remain inexplicable, the existence of religion 


33 


CREED AND DEED. 


before ever the idea of a deity had arisen among 
men, and the existence of what may be termed an 
atheistical religion, in conscious antagonism to the 
doctrine of a personal God. Among the lower races 
we find men worshipping, sacrificing and uttering 
their invocations to mountains, fountains, rivers, 
rocks and stones : they know not a deity — some- 
times they have not even idols, and yet they cer- 
tainly have, after a fashion of their own, a religion. 
Again, Buddhism, while possessing a subtle system 
of philosophy and an admirable code of ethics, starts 
with the proposition that there never was a creation, 
and in consequence, never a creator, and yet more 
than four hundred millions of the earth’s inhabitants 
call it their religion ! 

The question returns to us, What is religion ? 
It is not creed ; it is not sacrifice ; it is not prayer ; 
it is not covered by the dogmas of any special form 
of belief ; it has acted as a controlling force in all 
ages, in every zone, among all manner of men. 
Are we devoid of it ? Of it ? Of what ? 

The feeling which the presence of the Infinite 
in the thoughts of man awakens within him, is 
called, the feeling of the sublime. The feeling of 
the sublime is the root of the religious sentiment . 
It assumes various phases, and to these correspond 
the various religions. Let us endeavor to enumer- 
ate some of the most prominent. 


RELIGION. 


39 


The feeling of the sublime is awakened by the 
mysterious. The indefinite gives us our earliest 
presentiment of the infinite; the religion of mys- 
tery is fetishism. The feeling of the sublime is 
awakened by exhibitions of superhuman power. 
The religion of power is paganism. The feeling of 
the sublime is evoked by vastness ; the religions 
of vastness are Brahminism and Buddhism. The 
loftiest type of sublimity is to be found in the 
morally infinite. Judaism, Christianity and Islam 
have sought to give it expression.* 

Let us discuss in the first place the origin of 
Fetishism. There are certain natural phenomena 
that fill us with alarm, without our being able to 
attribute the effect to any definite cause. The 
darkness of night, the rustling of leaves, the moan- 
ing of the wind through the forest, the wailing cry 
of certain birds, and the peculiar effects of a gather- 
ing fog, are of this kind. I have had occasion to 
observe a little child suddenly starting from its play 
with every sign of fear depicted upon its counte- 
nance ; the spasm passed away as quickly as it had 
come, but was repeated at various intervals, until at 
last the child ran up to me in uncontrollable alarm, 

* We do not pretend that the above schedule is at all exhaustive. 
Various elements of the sublime, not mentioned in the text, have 
entered into the composition of each of the great religions. We 
have merely attempted to seize the more salient feature of a few 
leading types. 


40 


CREED AND DEED. 


and threw up its arms for protection : it was a raw 
wintry day, a gusty wind blew fitfully against the 
windows; and the dreary sound of the rattling 
panes could be distinctly heard in the stillness of 
the room ; on closer observation I noticed that the 
signs of alarm in the child recurred with great 
regularity, as often as this sound was repeated. 
In a similar way we may imagine our earliest ances- 
tors to have been affected by whatever was vague 
and mysterious in nature. The sense of uncertainty 
occasioned in this manner, gave rise in the primitive 
man to the first conceptions of mysterious powers 
beyond him. 

The invention, or rather the discovery, of fire 
tended still further in the same direction. To us it 
is barely possible to imagine life without this most 
useful of the elements. The wild beast flees fire and 
fears it, man uses it, and it becomes the chief instru- 
ment of civilization. But if we strive to picture to 
ourselves the state of the savage’s mind on his first 
acquaintance with fire and its properties we shall 
find him utterly at a loss to account for. How will 
he regard this nimble, playful being, so bright and 
yet so fearful in its ravages. Of the laws of chemical 
action he has of course no conception, but he has 
sometimes seen the lightning strike into the wood 
of the tree, and now from the same wood he evokes 
the semblance of the lightning. He is twirling 


RELIGION. 


41 


two dry sticks between his hands ; of a sudden, a 
lambent flame shoots forth, seizes the wood, makes 
away with it, and leaves nothing but blackened 
cinders behind. Whence did it come, whither has 
it vanished? Here was a new mystery; a spiritual 
presence, latent in trees and stones ; kindly and 
beneficent at times, then again hostile and fiercely 
destructive. 

The mystery of the preparation of fire is cele- 
brated in the ancient hymns of the Vedah. We 
there find its birth from the friction of the double 
sticks described, and its properties rehearsed in rev- 
erent language. It is invoked like any superior 
spirit to bless its votaries, and to protect them from 
harm. The important role ascribed to fire in the 
sacred usages of the ancients, is well-known, and 
the origin of fire worship apparent. 

The theory of dreams, to which we have referred 
on a previous occasion, contributed in like manner, 
to extend the boundaries of the world of mystery. 
Convinced that he bore within himself an airy coun- 
terfeit of self, the savage attributed the same species 
of possession to things animate and inanimate alike. 
Why should not beasts and rivers and stones have 
their ghosts like man? Moreover, as to the ghosts 
of the human dead, no one could tell where they 
might take up their abode. They might be any- 
where and everywhere. Their countless legions sur- 


42 


CREED AND DEED. 


rounded the living in all places. They were heard 
shouting in the echo among the hills ; they were 
seen to ride past on the midnight gale. Often they 
assumed the shape of birds and reptiles and beasts 
of prey. Those creatures were singled out with a 
preference, whose movements and habits suggested 
the idea of mystery. Thus the owl was supposed to 
harbor an evil spirit, and the serpent was worshipped 
because of its stealthy, gliding motion, its venomous 
bite, and the fascination in its eye. Serpent wor- 
ship existed the world over. Traces of it are pre- 
served in the literature of the Greeks and Romans, 
and it was practised even among the Hebrews, as 
the Books of Kings attest. Among certain African 
tribes it is still customary to keep huge serpents in 
temples, and priests are dedicated to their service. 
Powerful animals also, such as the bear, the lion and 
the tiger, were sometimes supposed to contain the 
ghosts of departed chieftains, and were revered ac- 
cordingly. 

If we remember the unfriendly relations sup- 
posed to subsist between the living and the dead, 
we may conceive the state of alarm in which our 
primitive ancestors must have passed their lives 
on beholding themselves thus beset on every side, 
with ghosts or demons in disguise. A thousand 
fabulous terrors haunted their imagination. Wher- 
ever they turned they suspected lurking foes; 


RELIGION. 


43 


spirits were in the earth, in the air, in birds, in ani- 
mals, in reptiles, in trees. They could not move a 
step without infringing on the boundaries of the 
spirit realm. Every object the least extraordinary in 
size, or shape, or color, appeared to them the token 
of some demon’s presence, and was worshipped in 
consequence, not on its own account, but because of 
the mystery which it suggested. 

In this manner Fetishism arose. The fetish 
worshipper leaves his hut in the morning, sees some 
bright pebble glistening on his path, lifts it from 
the ground and says, this shall be my fetish. If he 
succeeds in the business of the day, he places the 
little object in a shrine, gilds it, brings it food, ad- 
dresses his prayers to it ; if it fails, it is cast aside. 
Again, if after a little time the fetish ceases to ful- 
fil his wishes, he breaks it and drags it in the mire 
by way of punishment. 

Such are a few of the gross and grotesque con- 
ceptions to which the religion of mystery has given 
birth. It is true, to the educated mind of the pres- 
ent day they will appear the very reverse of sub- 
lime. Bur greatness is relative, and our own loftier 
conceptions of the sublime are but the slow result 
of a long process of growth and development. 

The Religion of Power. — It has often been 
said that fear is the beginning of religion ; a state- 


44 


CREED AND DEED. 


ment of this kind however, cannot be accepted, 
without serious qualification. There is a sense of 
kinship with the great, in whatever form it may ap- 
pear, of which even the meanest are susceptible. A 
nation worships the hero who ruins it ; and slaves 
will take a certain pride in the superiority of their 
masters. It is not fear so much as admiration of 
might which makes men servants of the mighty. 
The first tyrants on earth were, in all likelihood, 
strong, agile, and brave men, possessing in an extra- 
ordinary degree, the qualities which all others cov- 
eted. They won applause, they were looked up to 
as natural leaders, and the arm of force maintained 
what the esteem of their fellows had accorded in 
the first instance. There is a touch of the sublime 
even in the rudest adoration of force. 

In the second stage of religious development, 
which we are now approaching, the theory of pos- 
session discussed in the above, was extended to the 
heavenly bodies, and the sun, moon and stars were 
endowed with the attributes of personal beings. 
Hence the origin of the great gods. As the sun is 
the most conspicuous body in the heavens, the sun 
god figures as the central deity in every pantheon. 
The various phases through which the luminary 
passes are represented in distinct personalities. 
We find gods of the rising sun and of the setting 
sun ; gods of the sun of spring, summer and winter, 


RELIGION. 


45 


gods also of the cloud-enshrouded sun, that battles 
with the storm giants. 

Since the hosts of heaven were supposed to be 
beings allied in nature to ourselves, the action and 
interaction of the meteoric phenomena was ascribed 
to personal motives, and the ingenuity of the 
primitive philosophers was exhausted in finding 
plausible pretexts to explain their attractions and 
repulsions, their seeming friendships and hostilities. 
Thus arose the quaint and fanciful myths with 
which the traditions of antiquity abound. Those 
problems which the modern mind seeks to settle 
with the help of scientific investigation, the limited 
experience of an earlier age was barely competent to 
attack, and it covered with some pretty fiction, the 
difficulties which it could not solve. The gene- 
alogy and biography of the sun-god formed the 
main theme of all mythologies. 

The daily progress of the sun through the 
heavens, is described as follows : Each morning the 
golden crowned god leaves his golden palace in the 
East, deep down below the ocean’s waves ; he 
mounts his golden chariot, drawn by fiery steeds. 
A rosy fingered maiden opens the purple gate of 
day, upward rush the steeds through blinding 
mist along the steep ascent of heaven, down they 
plunge at evening into the cooling waters of the 


46 


CREED AND DEED. 


sea ; the naiads await the deity and bear him back- 
ward to his orient home. 

Again the fair youth Adonis is said to come out 
of the forest, where nymphs had nurtured him. 
Venus and he hunt in joyous company through 
wood and dale. One day Adonis is slain ; the blood 
that trickled from his wounds has turned the roses 
red, and the tender anemones have sprung from the 
tears that love wept when she beheld his fall. The 
young god who comes out of the forest is Spring ; 
for a time he disports joyously on earth, with love 
for his companion, but his term of life is quickly 
ended. Spring dies, but ever returns anew. Among 
the Syrian women it was customary for a long 
period to observe the festival of the Adoneiah ; with 
every sign of grief they first bemoaned the god’s 
untimely death ; they beat their breasts, cut off the 
rich luxuriance of their hair; showed upon his effigy 
the marks of the wounds he had received ; bound 
him with linen bands, anointed him with costly oil 
and spices, and then buried him. On the seventh 
day the cry was heard, Adonis lives, Adonis is 
resurrected from the grave. The story of a young 
god typical of the Spring who suffers a premature 
death, and after a time resurrects from the grave is 
well known in the mythologies of other nations. 

The progress of the sun through the sea- 
sons is thus personified. The rays of the sun 


RELIGION. 


47 


are described as the locks of the sun-god’s hair. 
When the sun’s heat waxes, these locks increase in 
abundance, when it wanes they diminish, until in 
mid-winter the head of the sun-god is entirely 
bald. At this season the god is supposed to be 
exceedingly weak, and his eye, bright in the 
summer, is now become blind. He is far from his 
home, and subject to the power of his enemies, the 
wintry storms. These traits recur in the familiar 
Hebrew myth of Samson. The word Samson 
means sun ; he is bound with ropes, as is also the 
sun-god among the Polynesians. The secret of his 
strength is in his hair. Shorn of this the giant 
becomes feeble as a child, and is blinded by his 
foes. 

But it is the sun in its conflict with the demons 
of the storm, the sun as a warrior and a hero, that 
chiefly attracts the religious reverence of the heroic 
age. In nature there is no more striking exhibition 
of power than is revealed in the phenomena of the 
thunder-storm. Even to us it has not lost its 
sublimity, and a sense of awe overcomes us when- 
ever the mighty spectacle is enacted in the heavens. 
Primitive man had a far deeper interest in the issue 
of the tempest than we are now capable of appre- 
ciating. To him the clouds appeared to be fero- 
cious monsters, and when they crowded about the 
central luminary, he feared that they might quench 


48 


CREED AND DEED. 


its light in everlasting darkness. The very exis- 
tence of the universe seemed to be threatened. 
The sun-god, the true friend of man, however 
arises to wage war against the demons : a terrific 
uproar follows and the contending forces meet. 
Do you hear Thor’s far-sounding hammer, Jove’s 
bolt falling in the thunder clap : do you see Indra’s 
lightning-spear flashing across the sky, and piercing 
the sides of the storm dragon? The light triumphs ; 
the tempest rolls away, but presently returns to be 
again defeated. In this way arose the transparent 
stories of Jupiter’s conflict with Typhon, his pre- 
cipitate flight, and his final victory ; the story of 
Indra’s warfare against the writhing serpent, Vritra, 
and numerous others that might be mentioned. 
It is the sun-god who flashes the lightning and 
hurls the thunder. To him men owe the mainte- 
nance of the order of existence. He is the mightiest 
of the gods. Fighting their battles on high, he is 
invoked by the warriors to aid them in their earthly 
conflicts ; he takes precedence of all the other dei- 
ties ; he the strongest god is raised to the throne 
of the celestial state. 

Now if we study the history of these deities, 
their intercourse among themselves and with men, 
we find them to be no more than colossal images 
of ourselves cast on the mists of the unknown. It 
is our face and form that Jupiter wears ; the echo 


RELIGION. 


49 


of our wishes comes back to us in his oracles. “ If 
horses and cows could draw their gods,” an ancient 
philosopher has pointedly said, “ as horses and cows 
would they draw them.” The gods share our 
passions, the good and the evil, distinguished only 
in this, that what we feebly attempt, they can 
execute on a scale of gigantic magnitude. They 
love and bless and shower a thousand gifts upon 
their worshippers ; but they can hate also ; are vain, 
vindictive, cruel. 

The gods demand tribute. Like the kings of 
earth, they received the best share of the spoils of 
war and of the chase ; and gold and silver also was 
deposited in their sanctuaries. Perfumed incense 
and dainty cakes were placed upon their altars. 
The gods are hungry, they must be fed. The gods 
are thirsty, and certain strong narcotic beverages 
were brewed especially for their benefit. For this 
among the Hindoos the juice of the soma plant 
was mixed with pure milk. 

The gods demand blood. The wide prevalence 
of human sacrifice is the saddest fact that stains the 
annals of religious history. Among the Fijians 
the new boat of the chieftain was not permitted to 
venture upon the waves until it had been washed 
with human blood, in order to secure it against 
shipwreck. Among the Khonds of India, we learn 
that the body of a human victim was literally torn 
3 


50 


CREED AND DEED. 


in pieces and his blood mixed with the new turned 
clod, in order to insure a plentiful harvest. It is 
estimated that at least twenty-five hundred human 
beings were annually sacrificed in the temples of 
Mexico. Human sacrifice was known among the 
Greeks, and its practice among the Hebrews is 
recorded in the Hebrew Bible. 

When the manners, of men ameliorated, and 
gentler customs began to supplant the barbarous 
usages of an earlier day, the tyranny of the gods 
was still feared, but various modes of substitution 
were adopted to appease their jealousy of human 
happiness. In India we are told, that the god of 
light being displeased with the constant effusion of 
blood, commanded a buffalo to appear from out the 
jungle, and a voice was heard saying, sacrifice the 
buffalo and liberate the man. 

Another mode of substitution was to give a part 
for the whole. Some one member of the body was 
mutilated or curtailed in order to indicate that the 
person’s life was in reality forfeit to the god. 
Among certain of the aboriginal tribes of America, 
the youth, on reaching the years of maturity, was 
forced to place his hand upon a buffalo’s skull, and 
one or more joints of the finger were then cut off 
and dedicated to the great spirit. There were other 
modes of mutilation of which I dare not speak, but 
I will briefly add that the so-called rite of the 


RELIGION. 


51 


covenant, which is practised among the Jews even 
at the present day, rose in exactly the same manner. 
Of course the original signification of the custom 
has been forgotten and a purely symbolical mean- 
ing has been attached to it. Nevertheless, its 
continuance is a disgrace to religion. The grounds 
of sanity on which it is urged, are not in themselves 
tenable, and if they were, . religion would have no 
concern with them. It is but a fresh instance of 
the stubborn vitality which seems to inhere in the 
hoary superstitions of the past. 

Occasionally, when a whole people was threat- 
ened with destruction, some prominent and beloved 
individual was selected for sacrifice, in order that 
by his death he might save the rest. The same 
feature was also introduced into the legends of the 
gods. Philo tells us that the great God El whom 
the Hebrews and Phoenicians worshiped, once de- 
scended to earth, and became a king. This El was 
the supreme deity. He had an only son whom he 
loved. One day when great dangers threatened his 
people, the god determined to sacrifice his only be- 
gotten ( uovoyevjjc ) son and to redeem his people : and 
year by year thereafter a solemn festival was cele- 
brated in Phoenicia in honor of that great sacrifice. 

The religion of force has left its dark traces in 
the history of mankind. Even the higher religions 
accepted, while they spiritualized, its degrading 


52 


CREED AND DEED. 


conceptions into their systems. Slowly only and 
with the general spread of intelligence and mor- 
ality, can we hope that its last vestiges will be 
purged from the minds of men. 

Vastness is an element of the sublime. In the 
religious conceptions of the Hindoos we find it 
illustrated. It entered alike into the system of the 
Brahmin and of the Buddhist, and determined their 
tone and quality. A certain fondness for the 
gigantic, is peculiar to Hindoo character. Witness 
the almost boundless periods of their ancient 
chronology ; the colossal forms with which the re- 
mains of their monuments and architecture abound. 
A great Aryan nation having advanced from the 
waters of the Indus to the shores of the sacred 
Ganges and having subdued the natives by the force 
of superior numbers or bravery, had learned to forget 
the active pursuits of war, and yielded to the lassi- 
tude engendered by the climate of their new settle- 
ments. Around them they beheld a rich and luxu- 
riant vegetation ; birds of rare and many colored 
plumage, stately trees rising from interminable 
jungles. Ravishing perfumes lulled their senses as 
they reposed in the shade of these fairy-like forests. 
It was a land suited to dreamy contemplation. Here 
the philosophic priests might dwell upon the vast- 
ness of the Universal, and the imagination bewil- 


RELIGION. 


53 


dered by the ever shifting phenomena of the scene 
might well seek some principle of unity which 
could connect and explain the whole. Brahma 
was the name they gave to the pervading Spirit 
of All things. From Brahma the entire order 
of existence has emanated ; the elements of 
material things, plants, birds, beasts and men. The 
lower castes came forth first and are nearest the 
brutes ; the castes of free-born workmen, and of 
warriors next, the priests and saints last, in whom 
the world’s soul found its loftiest expression. 

To Brahma all things must return. Passing 
through an endless series of transformations, and 
paying in the long and painful interval the pen- 
alty of every crime it has committed, the migra- 
ting spirit of man is led back at last to its primal 
source, and is resolved in the Brahma whence it 
arose. The connection between individual and 
universal life was thus kept constantly in view. 
The soul in the course of its wanderings might 
pass through every conceivable mode of existence ; 
might assume the shape of creeping plants and 
worms, and wild animals ; might rise to the posses- 
sion of miraculous powers in the heavens of the 
Rishis, while its final destiny was to be reunited 
with the One and All. 

The Buddhist Nirvana resembles the Brahma 
in being accounted the ultimate principle of the 


54 


CREED AND DEED. 


world. When in the sixth century B. C. the royal 
Hermit of the £akyas revolted against the cruel 
despotism of the priesthood, the legend relates that 
the sight of suffering in the forms of sickness, old 
age and death, roused him from a life of indolent 
pleasure, and impelled him to seek a remedy for the 
ills of human life. His counsels were sweet and 
kindly ; he taught self-control and wise moderation 
in the indulgence of the passions, and brotherly 
help and sympathy to lessen the evils which fore- 
sight cannot avert. He lifted the degraded masses 
of the Indian land from out their dull despair ; he 
warred against the distinctions of caste, he took 
women and slaves for his companions, he was a 
prophet of the people, whom the people loved. 
But even to him the ills of this mortal condition 
seemed little when compared with the endless 
possibilities of future ill that awaited the soul in 
the course of its ceaseless transmigrations. He 
yearned to shorten its weary path to the goal ; 
and the mystic methods by which he sought to 
enter Nirvana were a means adapted to this end. 
Nirvana is the beginning and the end of things. 
Nirvana in which there is neither action nor feel- 
ing; in which intelligence and consciousness are 
submerged, appeared to this pessimist preacher 
the last, the only reality. Life is a delusion, real 
only in its pains : the entire cossation of conscious 


RELIGION. 55 

existence, is the solution he offers to human 
suffering. 

Nirvana is the universal — its conception is vast 
and dim ; it hovers in the distance before the pil- 
grim of the earth ; there will he find rest. 

Unlike the Western nations, the Hindoos re- 
garded the idea of immortality with dread and ter- 
ror, rather than pleased anticipation. The highest 
promises of their religion, were intended to assure 
them that they would cease to continue as individ- 
ual beings or cease to continue altogether. Peace 
in the tomb when this present toil is over seemed to 
them the most desirable of goods, and a dreamless 
sleep from which no angel trump should ever wake 
the sleeper. 

“ Two things,” says Kant, “ fill the soul with ever 
new and increasing admiration and reverence ; the 
star-lit heavens above me, and the moral law within 
me.” * 

The Hebrews were the first to lend to the moral 
ideas a controlling influence in the sphere of religion. 
Let me attempt to briefly sketch the origin of Mon- 
otheism amongst them, as numerous considerations 
elsewhere recited in detail, have led me to conceive 
of it. The religions of the Semitic nations who sur- 
rounded ancient Israel were intensely emotional in 


* Kant’s Works (Rosenkranz edition) vol. viii. p. 312. 


56 


CREED AND DEED. 


character, and their gods were gods of pleasure and 
pain. In the temples unbounded license alternated 
with self sacrificing asceticism. The lewd rites of 
the goddess of love must be regarded as typical of 
the one ; the slaughter of sons in honor of Moloch, 
of the other. Now the Hebrews have been distin- 
guished for the purity of their home life from a very 
early period of their history. The high value which 
they set on male offspring, the jealous vigilance with 
which they guarded the virtue of their women are 
alike illustrated in the narratives of the Bible. The 
more gifted and noble minded among them, behold- 
ing their domestic feelings outraged by the prevail- 
ing religions, rebelled against the gross conceptions 
of idolatry. How could they offer up their beloved 
sons for sacrifice, how could they give over their 
wives and daughters to shame ? The controlling 
force of their character determined the doctrines of 
their creed. Judaism became, so to speak, a family 
religion. Jehovah is conceived of as the husband of 
the people. Israel shall be his true and loyal spouse, 
the children of Israel are His children. The image 
of Jehovah is that of the ideal patriarch. Like the 
patriarch, he is the head of the spiritual family of 
man. Like the patriarch in ancient times, he is the 
lawgiver and the judge ; He is the guardian of 
domestic purity. The word for false religion in 
Hebrew signifies fornication. “ Contend against 


RELIGION. 


57 


your mother,” says Jehovah, “ for I am not her 
spouse, nor she my wife.” “ My people lust after 
false gods, for the spirit of impurity has seduced 
them.” And the day of the triumph of the true re- 
ligion is thus predicted : “ On that day thou shalt 
not call me any more my Baal, (paramour) but thou 
shalt call me my husband, and I shall wed thee in 
justice, etc.” Thus the idea of Jehovah sprang 
from the soil of the family, and the conception of a 
divine father in heaven was derived from the analogy 
of the noblest of moral institutions on earth. The 
spiritual God of the Hebrews was the personification 
of the moral Ideal. 

Like his relations to the chosen people and to 
mankind in general, the relations of the Deity to 
the external world were described in accordance 
with the demands of the Ethical Law. Two things 
morality insists upon ; first, that the natural in its 
coarser acceptation shall be subordinate to the 
moral. Secondly, that in the scale of values itself 
shall occupy the highest rank, and that the pur- 
pose of human life on earth can only be a moral 
purpose. As the mechanism of nature is not of 
itself calculated to harmonize with the purposes 
of spirit, it behooves that the spiritual God shall 
possess a power over matter adequate to enforce 
the claims of the moral ideal, such power as only 
the creator can exert over his creatures. Hence the 
3 * 


58 


CREED AND DEED. 


doctrine of the creation. And again the state of 
perfection to which the human heart aspires can only 
be attained through the instrumentality of supreme 
wisdom, power and love, in a millennial age when 
the scheme of the universe will be perfected in 
the reign of absolute justice and peace. Hence the 
doctrine of the Messiah. Both doctrines are the 
typical expression of a moral need. 

In the opening of Genesis we read a description 
of the making of the world. All was wild vast 
chaos, and darkness brooded over the abyss, when 
the Spirit of Jehovah breathed on the waters; a 
single word of command and light penetrated the 
gloom, the waters divided, the great luminaries 
started forth on their course ; the earth clothed her- 
self in verdure, and the forms of living beings sprang 
into existence. The words “God saw everything 
he had made and behold it was very good,” contain 
the gist of the narrative. In Zephaniah and Isaiah 
we read : “ On that day I will turn to the people 
a pure language that they may all call upon the 
name of the Lord to serve him with one consent.” 
“ No one shall then do evil, no one hurt in all my 
holy mountain, for the earth shall be full of the 
knowledge of God as the waters cover the sea.” 

These visions are not true in the sense of histor- 
ical occurrences past or future. That the world was 
ever created out of nothing, what human under- 


RELIGION. 


59 


standing can conceive of it ? That a time will come 
when society shall be so transformed that the pure 
language of love alone shall be spoken, who that is 
instructed in the failings of our finite nature can 
credit it? They are true in the sense of ideals; 
true, with the truth of poetry, bodying forth in con- 
crete shape the universal yearnings of mankind. 

There is also another element of belief associated 
with the doctrine of the Messiah, which still more 
plainly illustrates the typical value of religious ten- 
ets. In the coming week the churches throughout 
Christendom will rehearse the story of the passion 
and the death of their founder. Mournful chants and 
lamentations will recall every circumstance of the 
dark drama that closed on Calvary. That tale of 
harrowing agony still moves the hearts of millions 
as though it were a tale of yesterday. It is the sym- 
bol of the suffering and the crucifixion of the whole 
human race. “ Ah, but our griefs he has borne, our 
sorrows he has carried, he was wounded for our 
transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.” 
Hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, the 
author of these lines transcribed in them the sad ex- 
perience of the reformers of his day. He does not 
refer to any one Messiah ; he speaks of that legacy 
of sacrifice which is the heritage of the great and 
good, the world over. For who can help us when 
we are plunged in deepest anguish, when it seems as 


6o 


CREED AND DEED. 


though we must sink under the load of trouble, but 
one who has endured like trials, endured and tri- 
umphed over them ? It is the martyrdom of the 
pure that has redeemed mankind from guilt and sin ? 
There is this constant atonement of the strong for 
the weak, of the good for the evil. As old Paul 
Gerhard has it in his seventeenth century hymn : 

“ When utmost dread shall seize me, 

That human heart can know, 

Do thou from pain release me, 

By thy great pain and woe.” 

The teachings of religion then have their source 
in the aspirations of the human heart ; are the echoes 
of our wishes and our hopes. Not valueless on that 
account, but valuable only in so far as they express 
in noble types, noble aspirations of our souls. It were 
sad indeed if morality depended upon the certainty 
of dogma. On the contrary it is true that all that is 
best and grandest in dogma, is due to the inspi- 
ration of the moral law in man. The time will come 
when the tenets of faith will no longer be narrowly 
understood as now ; and while their influence will 
f still be great, they will cease to be harmful and con- 
fining. They will be used as rare imagery,- to deck 
the sublime meanings which they symbolize; not 
as vessels that contain the absolute truth, but as 
choice and beautiful vases, fit to hold the ever fresh 
and ever blooming flowers of the ideal. 


RELIGION. 


6l 


The dogmatic assertion of religious teachings we 
hold to be a serious evil, and dogma as such we can- 
not accept. Its influence in the past has been perni- 
cious, and is so at the present day no less. It has 
inflamed the hatred of man against his brother man, 
it has led to the fatal error of duties toward a per- 
sonal Creator, distinct from our duties toward our 
fellows : it has perverted the moral sense, by giving 
to the concern of future salvation, a degree of prom- 
inence before which the interests of the present 
life sink into comparative insignificance ; it does 
not afford us a common basis whereon we could 
unite, for it is by nature uncertain and calculated to 
provoke dissensions. On the other hand we behold 
in conscience the root of whatever good religion 
has achieved, and the law of conscience must suffice 
to guide and elevate our lives. To refresh the moral 
sentiment is the one thing needful in our time, and 
indeed presents a task on whose accomplishment the 
highest interests of society depend. Time will show 
that a simple appeal to duty will surely suffice to 
lead men to more earnest exertions toward the 
good. Time will show that those who know no 
other mode of salvation than the salvation which is 
attained by works of love, will be at least as active 
in the pursuit of virtue as those who put their trust 
in faith. 

The gold of morality has been variously coined; 


62 


CREED AND DEED. 


in the world’s religious systems. Various have been 
the symbols that were stamped thereon, and vari- 
ous the images of the King in whose name it was 
issued, but their value so far as they had value was 
in the moral gold that they contained, and in 
naught else. Let Liberalism stamp its coin with 
the Eagle of Liberty only, in its ethical teachings it 
will still retain the substance of all religion. 

Dogma we will keep in abeyance, — this is our 
point of departure, and the deed superior to the 
creed. Be it ours to hold high the moral ideal, 
whether we clothe it with personality or not. Be it 
ours to act divine things, no matter how we regard 
divine mysteries. Be it ours to help in lifting, up 
the fallen, to lend free utterance to the complaints 
of the oppressed, to brand the social iniquities of 
our time, to give our hearts warmth and the labor 
of our hands to the cause of their redress, and 
to push on with whatever power we may, the 
progress of our race toward those high and holy 
goals of which the dreamers dream, the prophets 
prophesy. 


III. 


\ 


THE NEW IDEAL. 

The old religions and science are at war. With 
pitiless consistency science directs its attack upon 
their vulnerable positions. The conception of inex- 
orable law subverts the testimony of miracles ; the 
fond belief in truths divinely revealed fails to with- 
stand the searching analysis of historical criticism ; 
the battle of science is yet far from being won, but 
from our standpoint the issue cannot appear doubt- 
ful. It behooves us therefore to inquire into the 
moral bearings of the general result thus far 
achieved and to review what we have lost and won. 
Shall we succeed thereby in allaying the sense of 
alarm that is wont to agitate the timid heart when 
it beholds so much that it confidently believed a 
part of the everlasting verities of life, sink back into 
the gulf of uncertainty and doubt ? 

We are standing at the portals of a new age, and 
new conceptions have arisen of the purpose which 
we are here to accomplish and of the means of help 
we can command in the attempt to realize our des- 
tiny. These new conceptions we call The New 


6 4 


CREED AND DEED. 


Ideal. It is the purpose of our present discourse to 
compare some salient features of the old and new. 

The old and new Ideals agree in looking to an 
Infinite beyond the borders of experience, for it is in 
the nature of the ideal to lift us above the merely 
real. They differ in the direction in which they seek 
their object, and the bias which they consequently 
give to men’s thoughts and actions. Theology, per- 
ceiving the inability of reason to solve the problems 
of the beginning and the end, yet unable to restrain 
a desire to know what is really unknowable, has 
impressed the imagination into its service, and 
drawn a picture of the transcendental world, con- 
forming indeed to the analogies of man’s terrestrial 
existence, but on this account all the more adapted 
to answer the wishes of the masses of mankind. 
Enough for them that they feel the need of believ- 
ing the picture true. We of the New School are, 
if possible, even more profoundly convinced of the 
limitations of human reason. We cheerfully accord 
to the religious conceptions of the past a poetic 
value ; they are poetry, often of the sublimest kind ; 
but we cannot deceive ourselves as to the noble 
weakness of the heart to which they owe their 
origin ; we cannot forget that in their case alas the 
wish has been father to the thought. To us the mys- 
tery is still mystery — the veiled arcana are not re- 
vealed, the riddle is unread. But we are not there- 


THE NEW IDEAL. 


65 


fore filled with terror or dismay. In the moral 
nature of man we discover a divine element. In 
the voice of conscience we hear the voice of the 
present divinity within us, and we learn to regard 
this mortal state of ours as a channel through 
which the currents of Eternity ebb and flow 
ceaselessly. The divine nature is not far off, nor 
beyond the sea ; in our own hearts on our own 
lips ! 

But let us seek to scrutinize the distinctive fea- 
tures of the old and new more closely. The old 
ideal was supernatural in character, it taught man 
to regard his life on earth as a brief, temporary 
transit, himself an exile from the Kingdom on high. 
The concerns of the present world were in conse- 
quence deemed of secondary importance, and the 
eye dwelt with anxious preference on the dim 
chances of the hereafter. Where the hope of im- 
mortality has been prominently put forward by 
any religion, the effect has thus but too often 
proved disastrous to the progress and security of 
society. It is well-known by what painful penances 
the monks of the Middle Ages sought release from 
the trammels of the flesh, how they affected to de- 
spise the ties of domestic affection, how they re- 
tarded the advancement of knowledge, how the 
passions which they sought in vain to suppress, 
often recoiled upon them with fearful retribution, 


66 


CREED AND DEED. 


and gave rise to disorders which seriously under- 
mined public virtue. 

But not only has supernaturalism tended indi- 
rectly to weaken the springs of virtue, it has called 
into being an order of men whose very existence is a 
standing menace to the freedom of intellect and the 
rights of conscience. The distance between the 
Creator and his creatures is so great, that the inter- 
vention of some third party is deemed necessary to 
mediate between the finite and the Infinite. The 
priest steps in to perform this office, and his influ- 
ence is great in proportion to the value of the services 
which he is supposed to render. Furthermore it is 
believed that the personal deity requires the perform- 
ance of certain actions in his honor, and what these 
actions are is again left to the priest to determine. 
In this manner the ceremonial part of religion grows 
up, and acquires a degree of importance fatal to the 
moral life. The duties toward God transcend the du- 
ties toward man, and but too often usurp their place. 

The Bible likens the relations of man to God to 
those of a child to its father. It is true supernatu- 
ralism has often proved a valuable stay to those 
already morally strong, and it were absurd to deny 
that under its fostering care many of the noblest 
qualities that distinguish the filial relation have been 
developed in the lives of religious men. It is from 
no lack of appreciation on our part that we have 


THE NEW IDEAL. 


6 ; 


dwelt on the evils rather than the blessings it has 
brought. But in acknowledging that we have really 
lost the sense of protection, the childlike trust which 
lend such rare beauty to the character of many 
ancient models of piety, we deemed it important 
to point to the shades that darken the picture of the 
supernatural religions, its lights are made the theme 
of a thousand discourses week after week, and are 
hardly in any danger of being speedily forgotten. 

From the back-ground of the old Ideal stands 
out in bold relief the new. It is the reverse of 
supernatural ; if it takes pride in anything, it is in 
marking a return to nature. Trammels of the flesh, 
contamination of the body ? There is nothing it 
tells us in itself contaminating. The body is not 
alien to the mind, it is the seed plot from which 
mind flowers out in every part. Regard the form 
of man, observe the quick play of the features, the 
expressive smile, the speaking glance, every attitude, 
every gesture full of meaning, the whole body irradi- 
ated as it were, with the indwelling intelligence. 
And so the passions too which we are wont to as- 
sociate with our corporeal nature are but the rough 
material from which the artist soul behind them 
fashions its immortal types of beauty and of holi- 
ness. There is a graceless inuendo in the term 
nature, as of something hard, gross, material. In 
truth, nature is the subtlest, most ethereal presence 


68 


CREED AND DEED. 


of which we catch a gleam only at rare intervals, the 
reflex of a hidden light that glimmers through the 
facts and motions of the world. Take the nature 
of water for instance. Is it in the hydrogen, in the 
oxygen, in the single atom? Not there, yet there! 
somewhere hovering, imponderous, elusive. It 
comes nighest to the senses when the atoms act and 
react upon each other, in the flow of mighty rivers, 
in the leap of cataracts, in the turmoil of the sea. 
Or the nature of the tree ; is it in the roots, in the 
trunk, in the spreading branches, the leafy crown ? 
Perhaps in the fruit more than elsewhere the hidden 
being of the tree comes forth into external reality, 
and opens to the eye and touch. In action and 
fruition the deeper nature appears. Thus in the 
outward world, and thus in man. Our soul-life, too, 
is a flowing stream, whose power is not in any part 
but in the ceaseless, changeful motion of the whole, 
that forms a strong spiritual current on which our 
thoughts and sentiments move like swimmers to- 
ward an infinite sea. And like a tree are we, with 
the mighty trunk of intellect, the spreading branches 
of imagination, the fibrous roots of the lower in- 
stincts, that bind us to the earth. But the moral 
life is the fruit we bear ; in it our true nature is re- 
vealed ; in it we see the purpose of our being fulfilled. 
So when we speak of a return to nature, it is this 
higher nature to which we refer, whose origin we 


THE NEW IDEAL. 


69 


know not, but whose workings we feel, and know 
them by the token of the sweet satisfaction they 
afford us to be the crown and glory of our lives. 
The old Ideal emphasizes the Eternal that is with- 
out us ; the new the Eternal that is within our- 
selves. The old styles us exiles from the kingdom 
of truth; the new summons us to be the banner- 
bearers of truth ; the old points to a heaven beyond 
the earth, the new tells us that our earth too is a 
part of the heaven, a light-world, among endless 
worlds of light. 

If secondly we consider the means of support 
at our disposal in the pursuit of the ideal, we find 
prayer in universal use among the adherents of 
the old. Prayer in the sense of supplication, has 
been defined as “ a request made to the Deity as if 
he were a man.” And truly the language of prayer 
often tallies with this description. “ Let me succeed 
in this undertaking,” prays the Indian, “ that I 
may slay my enemy and bring home the tokens of 
victory to my dear family, in order that they may 
rejoice together. Have pity on me and protect 
my life, and I will bring thee an offering.” Some 
such inducement as the last is frequently coupled 
with the petition, “ Here is an offering for you, O 
God ! Look kindly towards this family, let it 
prosper and increase, and let us all be in good 
health.” “ Let me come upon my enemies speedily, 


7 ° 


CREED AND DEED. 


let me find them sleeping and not awake, and let 
me slay a good many of them.” “ I pray for cattle, 
I pray for corn, I ask also for children, in order that 
this village may have a large population, and that 
your name may never come to an end, for of old 
we have lived by your favor, let us continue to 
receive it. Remember that the increase of our 
produce is the increase of your worship, and that 
its diminution must be the diminution of your 
rites.” Among the Hindoos the efficacy ascribed 
to prayer was such that the gods themselves were 
deemed powerless to resist it, and the mystic invo- 
cations of the priests exerted a fateful influence on 
the destinies of the world. The ancient and 
modern literature of the Hebrews likewise testifies 
to their faith in prayer, and Christianity has herein 
followed if not outstripped their example. In case 
of drought the following prayer is offered in many 
of our churches : “ Send us, we beseech thee, in this 

our necessity, such moderate rain and showers that 
we may receive the fruits of the earth to our com- 
fort and to thy honor.” In case of storms: “We 
humbly beseech thee to restrain these immoderate 
rains, wherewith for our sins thou hast afflicted us, 
and we pray thee to send such seasonable weather 
that the earth may in due time yield her increase 
for our benefit.” In case of famine, “ Increase the 
fruits of the earth by thy heavenly benediction, 


THE NEW IDEAL. 


71 


and grant that the scarcity and dearth which we 
now most justly suffer for our sins, through thy 
goodness may be turned into plenty.” In case of, 
sickness, prayers are offered for the recovery of the 
sufferer. 

Against all these forms of petition the modern 
view of life emphatically protests. It starts with 
the grandest of scientific generalizations, that of the 
universality of nature’s laws. These laws cannot 
be broken ; they govern the course of the planets 
as they revolve through space, they appear in the 
slightest eddy of dust that rises on our streets. 
The world is a Kosmos ; to pray for a change in its 
arrangements is to pray for its destruction. The 
rains come when they must come, and the earth 
yields or withholds her crop, as a system of causes 
determined from immeasurable aeons of time pre- 
scribes. Is the God to whom men pray so poor a 
workman that he will change the mechanism of the 
Universe at their bidding? If all that is, is his 
work, why then the drought is his work, and the 
famine, and the sickness are his work, and they are, 
because he has willed that they should be. “ The 
gods help them that help themselves.” We are 
placed in a world with which we are but half 
acquainted ; our business is to know it thoroughly. 
All the history of mankind from the beginning has 
been a series of tentative struggles to acquire this 


72 


CREED AND DEED. 


precious knowledge, and we have made indeed 
some headway. We began by defending ourselves 
against the attacks of wild beasts ; we tilled the soil ; 
we invented tools, we formed communities, we 
moderated the friction of social intercourse ; we dis- 
covered the talisman of science, and the Aladdin’s 
lamp of art. In the treatment of disease also a 
great advance has been made. When the May- 
flower reached the American continent, she found 
a bleak and barren shore, full only of graves. A 
great epidemic had swept over the Indian tribes, 
and the natives fell like dead flies before the 
scourge. They had charms and prayers * these did 
not help them. We have accomplished a little; 
we are bound to aim at more. Why then call in 
the supernatural? It will not come, though we 
call never so loudly. The vain attempt does but 
keep us from that which is more needful, active 
exertion and strenuous efforts at self-help. But we 
are told that our success is poor at best, and that 
in the vast majority of cases, all our exertions avail 
nothing : moreover it is said that man is too frail 
and feeble a creature to depend upon himself alone 
in times of trial, and that prayer, whether it be 
answered or not, is valuable as a means of conso- 
lation that soothes and stills the heart. It is but 
too true that our achievements fall far short of our 
desires. Let those that do not, cannot pray, seek 


THE NEW IDEAL. 


73 


support in the sympathies of their kind, and where 
self-help fails, mutual help will offer them an inex- 
haustible source of strength and comfort. As for 
that species of prayer which is not addressed to a 
personal God at all, but claims to be an aspiration, 
an outpouring of the spirit, we do fail to see how 
it deserves the name of prayer in any sense. The 
use of the vocative, and of the pronoun thou is 
certainly calculated to mislead, and the appearance 
of inconsistency is hardly avoidable. 

Lastly, the old Ideal was stationary, retro- 
spective ; it placed its paradise at the beginning of 
human history. In the far off past it beheld our 
best and loftiest hopes anticipated and realized. 
Then the full significance of life had been reached ; 
then the oracles had spoken loudly and clearly 
whose faint echoes now float like memories of half 
forgotten melodies to our ear; then the imper- 
ishable truths were revealed in those olden, golden 
days. Not so, says the new Ideal. Rude and 
wretched were the beginnings of mankind on earth, 
poor the mind, and void the heart. Far from being 
exemplary, the ideas of right and wrong entertained 
by our earliest progenitors were infinitely below our 
own. Not indeed, that the substance of the moral 
sentiment has ever perceptibly changed. The in- 
herent principle of right remains the same, but it 
assumes higher forms and is applied on a wider 


4 


74 


CREED AND DEED. 


scale as the race advances. Thus the com- 
mandment not to kill a being like ourselves was 
recognized from the first, but in the earliest times, 
only members of the same family were esteemed 
beings like ourselves ; to kill a neighbor was not 
wrong. The family widened into the clan, the clan 
into the people, and all the nations are now em- 
braced in the common bond of humanity. Thus 
step by step the life of the clansman, the fellow 
citizen and at last of every human being came to be 
regarded as sacred. From a common centre mor- 
ality has developed outward in concentric circles. 
In different ages also different virtues predominated. 
Patriotism was esteemed highest in the Roman 
world ; self-sacrifice and chastity in the first Chris- 
tian communities. But whatever had thus been 
gained was not thereafter lost. Each age added its 
own to the stock of virtue ; each contributed its 
share to swell the treasure of mankind. The 
struggle for existence that raged fiercely on the 
lower levels of culture, loses its harsher aspects as 
we advance upon the path of civilization. The 
methods of force by which the unfit were eliminated 
are gradually falling into disrepute, if not into 
disuse. At last the good will survive because of its 
own persuasive excellency. The conflict will be- 
come one of ideas merely, an emulous peaceful 
contest for the prize of truth. 


THE NEW IDEAL. 75 

That the manners of the modern world have 
indeed become ameliorated, our own brief experi- 
ence as a society serves to illustrate. A few cen- 
turies ago, such an enterprise as ours would never 
have been attempted, of if undertaken, would have 
been speedily crushed by the arm of authority or 
the weight of prejudice. We will not say that big- 
otry is dead ; the fires of persecution still slumber 
beneath their ashes, and now and then start up 
into pretty bonfires to amuse the idle crowd ; but 
the time has gone by when they could mount on 
funeral pyres — they can kindle conflagrations no 
more. 

The new Ideal is progressive. Whatever we 
have achieved, it tells us there are larger achieve- 
ments yet beyond. As we rise in the scale of 
moral worth, the eye becomes clearer and wider of 
vision. We see in remote ages a race of men 
freer and stronger because of our toils, and that 
is our dearest hope and our sweetest recompense 
that they shall reap what we have sown. 

The old and the new Ideals will struggle for 
the mastery ; that which is stronger will conquer as 
of old, in the struggle for existence. But the new 
hope fills us with trust arid gladness that that which 
is true will be strong. 


IV. 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 

It is with good reason, that the very name of 
the priesthood, has become odious to the modern 
mind. How has their fanaticism drenched the earth 
with blood, how has their unbridled ambition sown 
seeds of discord among the nations ; how lament- 
able a commentary is the record of their frailties 
upon the assumption of superior sanctity and God- 
given authority. Yet it is not the priestly office, 
but its abuse, which has proved of evil, nor has the 
time yet come, when the ministry of priests can 
be safely dispensed with. There shall come a new 
Ideal to attract men’s reverence and a new service 
of the Infinite and a new priesthood also to do its 
ministry. It is of this modern priesthood, I would 
speak. 

Fear not that I am about to advocate a return 
to that system of spiritual bondage, from which we 
have but just escaped. The priests to whom we 
allude shall not be known by cassock or surplice. 
It is not at the altar they shall serve, least of all 
shall they have dogmas to communicate. They 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


77 


shall not be more than human, only if possible more 
human. Priests have we of science, we name them 
so ; men whose whole soul is wrapped up in the pur- 
suit of knowledge : priests of art, who dedicate their 
lives to the service of the Beautiful, priests also of 
the Moral, artists of the Good, sages in the science 
of Virtue, teachers of the Ideal. 

Let us consider for a moment, in order to illus- 
trate our meaning, the life of one such priest, whose 
fame has come down to us undimmed by the corrod- 
ing influence of time — the life of Socrates. He held 
no office, he ministered at no shrine, yet he was in 
the true sense a priest. A plain unpretentious man, 
content to live on coarse fare, inured to want, homely 
in appearance, using homely language ; nothing had 
he in appearance to attract ; yet the gay youths left 
their feasts and frolics when he approached, and 
the busy market-place was hushed to listen to the 
strange wisdom of his sayings ; there was indeed a 
singular and potent charm in this man s soul. He 
had a great need of righteousness, wonderful, how 
he awakened the same need in the hearts of the 
Athenian burghers of his day. He was the reverse 
of dogmatic. In comparison with the vastness of 
the unknown, he was wont to say, all human knowl- 
edge is little even to nothingness, he did not assume 
to know the truth, but strove to assist men in find- 
ing truths for themselves. He had his own enlight- 


78 


CREED AND DEED. 


ened views on questions of theology. But far 
from desiring to convert others to his convictions, 
he rather sought to divert their attention from those 
mysterious problems, in which men can never be 
wise, problems that are no nearer their solution to- 
day, than they were two thousand years ago. To 
those who questioned him concerning religion he re- 
plied : Are ye then masters of the humanities, that 
ye seek to pry into divine secrets? His father had 
been a fashioner of statues before him. he was a 
fashioner of souls ! This Socrates was condemned 
to suffer death on the charge of atheism, and met his 
fate with the calmness of the philosophic mind. If 
death, he said, is progress to untried spheres, then 
welcome death ! If it is sleep only, then also wel- 
come death and its deep repose. All the tokens of 
the priest were fulfilled in him. He was true to 
himself and unbared to others the veiled truths of 
their own higher nature. He was a loftier presence 
on earth, a living flame fed from its own central be- 
ing, a sun to which the world turned and was there- 
by enlightened. We perceive then, that what we 
desire is not a new thing. There has been this 
service of the Ideal from the earliest times. Only 
a new plea would we urge for larger fidelity to that 
which the best have striven for, and which under 
new conditions it will be the glory of our age to 
approach more nearly. 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


79 


The priest shall be a teacher of the “ Ideal,” but 
what is the Ideal and how distinguish it from the 
Real. Regard the trees, behold their number, the 
wondrous plenitude of their kinds. There is the 
lithe and slender pine, the mighty oak, the stately 
palm, the tender willow. Alike yet most unlike. 
And who has ever seen the perfect tree ! Observe 
the expressive features of the human face. How 
many thousands of such faces are born into the 
world each year and yet no two alike. By what fine 
shades, what scarce perceptible curves, what delicate 
touches has nature’s chisel marked them each apart. 
Graceful forms and lovely faces there are, yet per- 
fect none. Now the Ideal is the perfection of the 
Real. To find it we must go beyond the Realities. 
We study the nature of the tree, of man. We note 
the suggestions of the various parts, complete and 
produce them in utmost harmony, each perfect in 
itself, each serving by its own perfection, the 
rounded symmetry of the whole. In the image thus 
created we grasp the ideal form. Art with its genial 
enchantments, creates such images and gives them 
permanence in pure types of immortal significance. 
Art is idealism of form. 

The intellect also, which looks out from behind 
the features, the indwelling man, exhibits the same 
twofold aspect of the Real and Ideal. Our real 
thoughts are incomplete and inadequate. We are 


8o 


CREED AND DEED. 


led astray a thousand times by false analogies, we 
are decoyed into the labyrinths of fancy, we become 
the victims of impression, the toys of circumstance. 
But deep down in the basic structure of the mind 
are true laws, unerring guides. Logic expresses 
them, logic is the idealism of intellect. 

And lastly we recognize the same distinction in 
the realm of feeling. To the untutored caprice, the 
overmastering impulse, in brief to the realism of the 
passions is opposed the law of right feeling, which 
ethics expresses. Ethics is the idealism of charac- 
ter. We call this last the capital revelation of man’s 
nature. The moral law is not derivative, it can not 
be proven, it can not be denied. It is the root from 
which springs every virtue, every grace, all wisdom 
and all achievement. An attempt has indeed been 
made to base morality upon a certain commonplace 
utility, but true morality scorns your sad utilities. 
That is useful, which serves an object besides 
itself, while morality is itself an end, and needs and 
admits no sanction save its own excellency. As it 
delights the man of science to expand his judg- 
ment in ever wider and wider generalizations, as the 
larger thought is ever the truer thought, so is there 
an exquisite pleasure and an unspeakable reward in 
expanding the narrow consciousness of self in the 
unselfish, and the larger emotion is ever the nobler 
emotion. We speak of the moral Ideal, as The 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 8 1 

IDEAL, because it expresses the central idea of 
human life, the purpose of our existence on earth. 
To expound and illustrate its bearings on our daily 
duties, our joys, our griefs and our aspirations, is 
the scope and limit of the priestly office. 

The moral ideal would embrace the whole of 
life. Before it nothing is petty or indifferent, it 
touches the veriest trifles and turns them into 
shining gold. We are royal by virtue of it, and 
like the kings in the fairy tale, we may never lay 
aside our crowns. It tells us, that nothing shall 
be for its uses only, but all things shall take their 
tone and quality from the central idea. 

When we build a house, it shall not be for its 
uses only. We shall have kitchens and drawing 
rooms and libraries and pictures and flowers, if 
possible. But the house, with all its comforts and 
luxuries, is mere framework, and our words and 
doings construct the true, the spiritual home. 
When we sit down to table, it shall not be for the 
use of the food and the flavor of the wine only, but 
morality should preside at the feast and lend it 
grace and dignity. Morality does not mope in 
corners, is not sour nor gloomy. It loves genial 
fellowship, loves to convert our meanest wants into 
golden occasions for joy and sympathy and happy 
communion. Manners too are the offspring of 
character. We do not rate highly the dry and. 


4 ‘ 


82 


CREED AND DEED. 


cheerless conventionalisms of etiquette, but in their 
origin, they were the fruit of truth, and love. The 
rules of good breeding may be reduced to two ; self- 
possession and deference. As when a public speaker 
loses his self-control, his own uncertainty is quickly 
communicated to his audience, and he forfeits his 
influence over his hearers ; so the same cause 
produces the same effect in every lesser audience 
that gathers in our parlors. Society says to you : 
If I shall trust you, you must begin by trusting 
yourself. The man of the world will enter the 
palace of the prince and the cottage of the peasant 
with the same equipoise of manner. If he respects 
himself, there is no reason why he should stand 
abashed. Self-possession is essentially self-respect. 
Deference, too, is a primary condition of all cour- 
tesy. It teaches us to concede to others whatever 
we claim for ourselves ; it leads us instinctively to 
avoid loudness, and self-complacency. It is ex- 
pressed not only in the polished phrase, but in mien, 
attitude, every movement. Self-possession and def- 
erence of manner are both the outgrowth of moral 
qualities, the one depending on the consciousness 
of personal worth, the other inspired by an 
unselfish regard for the well-being of others. From 
these two it were possible to deduce the rules of a 
new ‘ Chesterfield,’ which should be free from all the 
conceit and affectation of the old. Unfortunately, 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


33 


manners are no longer the natural outpouring of 
heart-goodness. Men attire themselves in politeness 
as they do in rich apparel ; they may be as rude as 
they please, the year round, they know they can 
be fine on occasion. Moreover in the home circle, 
where the forms of courtesy are quite indispensable 
to prevent undue friction ; to send the light of 
grace and poetry into a world of little cares ; to 
fill the atmosphere of our daily surroundings as 
with the fragrance of a pervading perfume ; they 
are yet most commonly neglected. The word 
manners has the same meaning as morals. When 
we shall have better morals, we shall have truer 
and sweeter manners. 

The Ideal which thus seeks to interpenetrate the 
most ordinary affairs of private life, stands out also 
in the market place, in the forum, in the halls of 
legislation, and setting aside the merely useful, 
exhorts men to return to permanent values. That 
is the ideal view of politics which teaches us to hold 
the idea of country superior to the utilities of party, 
to exact worthiness of the public servants, to place 
the common good above sectional animosities and 
jealousies. That is the ideal view of commerce, 
which impels the merchant, while seeking pros- 
perity by legitimate means, to put conscience into 
his wares and dealings and to keep ever in sight the 
larger purposes of human life. That is the ideal 


8 4 


CREED AND DEED. 


view of the professions, which leads their represent- 
atives to subordinate the claims of ambition and 
material gain to the enduring interests of science, 
justice, and of all the great trusts that are confided 
to their keeping. And he therefore shall be called 
a priest of the Ideal, who by precept and example 
will divert us from the absorbing pursuit of the 
realities and make plain to us that the real is tran- 
sitory, while in the pursuit of the Ideal alone we 
can find lasting happiness. For the realities are 
constantly disconcerting us in our search for the 
better. They are so powerful, so insistent ; we 
think them every thing until we have proved their 
attractions and find them nothing. We have that 
only which we are. But the common judgment 
holds to the reverse; we are only what we have. 
And so the turbulent crowd plunges madly into 
the race — for acres, for equipage, for well-stocked 
larders, for office, for fame. Good things are these, 
as scales on the ladder of life, but life is somewhat 
more than acres and equipage and office and fame. 
Seldom indeed do we truly live. Often are we 
but shadows of other lives. We affect the fashions 
not only in dress but also in thought and opinion. 
We are good or bad, as public opinion bids us. 
The state is ruined, the church is corrupted, and the 
world’s giddy masquerade rushes heedlessly on. 

Give me one who will think Having and Seem- 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


35 


ing less than Being ; who will be content to be him- 
self and a law unto himself and in him I will revere 
the ideal man. Before him the shams and mocker- 
ies of existence shall sink away. He will look into 
his own soul and tell you the oracles he has read 
there, and you will hear and behold your own heart. 
He will plant the sign of the Eternal on a high 
standard and call unto a people that strays in the 
wilderness to look up to that and be saved. The 
old and the young will he instruct, and they shall 
love him, for his words will be an articulate cry to 
the dumb voices in their own breasts. This is the 
be-all and end-all of his mission, — to make them ac- 
quainted with themselves. Do you know he will 
say, what a power is in you, what a light is hidden 
in the deep recesses of your nature. Artists are ye 
all to whom your own soul is given to mold it into 
beauty. Happy, happy indeed if you seek no other 
reward but the artist’s joy in his work and know that 
to be your glory and your recompense. 

It is well, that there should be priests appointed 
to bear such messages to us from time to time as 
we rest from our toil ; to bring us face to face with 
the inner life. But there are special occasions in 
these passing years of ours, when the ideal bearings 
of life come home to us with peculiar force and 
when we require the priest to be their proper inter- 
preter. 


86 


CREED AND DEED. 


Marriage is one of them. We often hear it said 
that marriage is a mere legal compact. The state, 
it is true, has a vital interest in protecting the puri- 
ty of the conjugal relation and may prescribe cer- 
tain forms to which its citizens are bound to con- 
form. But has the meaning of the new bond been 
indeed fully expressed, when the magistrate in the 
court room has pronounced the young man and the 
maiden to be now husband and wife ? Among the 
ancient Hebrews youths and young girls were wont 
to meet on the Day of Atonement, the most solemn 
day of the year, the day of purification from sin, to 
cement their affections and plight their troth. For 
marriage itself was esteemed an act of purification. 
Marriage is the foundation of all morality. Its cel- 
ebration does not end with the wedding day : it is a 
constant celebration, a perpetual intermarrying of 
two souls while life lasts. 

Not the state only, but humanity also, that ideal 
state of which we are all citizens, has an interest in 
the contract. A new sanctuary is to be reared sacred 
to the ineffable mysteries of the home-life ; in the 
home with all the tender and holy associations that 
cluster about it let it be dedicated. The supreme 
festival of humanity is marriage. There shall be 
music and joy and a white-robed bride with myrtle 
wreath ; and solemn words to express the solemn 
meanings of the act. 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


87 


At the grave also is the office of the priest. 
When some dear friend has been taken from us, 
when the whole earth seems empty for the loss of 
one and the pillars of existence seem broken, he 
shall say to the grieving heart : Arise, be strong. 
He shall bid your brooding sorrow pause. He 
shall speak of larger duties, which they you mourn 
have left you, as their legacy. Larger duties : this 
is his medicine. You are not free, you poor and 
sadly stricken friends to stand aside in idle woe, but 
you shall make for the departed a memorial in your 
lives and assume their half completed tasks. So 
the loss, though loss it be, will purify you, and vim 
and vigor be found in the consolations of the Ideal. 

We trust that we have used the term priest in 
no narrow restricted sense. It is not the hierarchies 
of the past or the present of whom we have spoken. 
The priest is not superior to his fellow men, nor 
has he access to those transcendental regions which 
are closed to others. His power is in this, that he 
speaks what all feel. And he shall be counted an 
acceptable teacher, then only, when the slumbering 
echoes within you waken to the music that moves 
and masters him. 

There have been those, whose lives were mold- 
ed on such a pattern among the clergy at all 
times, and it is this circumstance, that has attracted 
the reverence of mankind to the priestly office. 


88 


CREED AND DEED. 


Noblemen were they whose love burst through 
the cramping fetters of their creeds, apostles of lib- 
erty, missionaries of humanity. 

But there is one other trait necessary to com- 
plete the picture. The priest of the Ideal must 
have the gift of tongues and kingly words to utter 
kingly thoughts. In the philosophy of Alexandria it 
was held, that before the world was, the word was, 
and the word created a universe out of chaos and 
the word was divine. With that heaven-born ener- 
gy must he be filled, and with a breath of that crea- 
tive speech must he inspire. No tawdry eloquence 
be his, no glittering gift of phrase or fantasy, but 
words of the soul’s own language, words of the pith 
and core of truth. 

The image of the Ideal priest which I have at- 
tempted to draw is itself an ideal image, nowhere 
realized, never to be fully attained. But it is to it 
that the priests of the new age will strive to come 
near and nearer, and that will be their pride and their 
happiness, if they can become in this sense friends 
and helpers of their kind. 

In the eyes of the dogmatist they are strangers 
out of a strange land of thought. If you ask them 
for their pass word, it is freedom, if you ask for their 
creed, it is boundless. The multitude seeking to 
compress the infinite within the narrow limits of the 
senses, must needs have tangible shapes to lay hands 


THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL. 


89 


on, names if nothing better. But the Ideal in the 
highest is void of form and its name unutterable. 
We will ascend on the wings of the morning, we 
will let ourselves down to the uttermost depths of 
the sea, and know it there. But chiefly within our- 
selves shall we seek it, in ourselves is its shrine. 
The time will come when single men shall no more 
be needed to do its ministry, when in the brother- 
hood and sisterhood of mankind all shall be priests 
and priestesses one to another, for all their life shall 
be a song of praise to the highest, and their whole 
being shall be consecrated and glorified in the im- 
mortal service of deathless Ideals. 


y. 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 

A NEW ORDER. 

I AM aware that there exists a deep seated 
prejudice in the minds of many of my hearers 
against what are called the forms of religion. We 
have too long experienced their limitations and 
restraints, not to be jealous now of our hard won 
liberties. But let us ask ourselves what it is that 
alienates our sympathies from the ritual and cere- 
monial observances of the dominant creeds? Is it 
the forms as such ? Is it not rather the fact that to 
us they have become dead forms: that they no 
longer appeal to our sentiments, that they fail to 
stir, to invigorate, to ennoble us? We have not 
cast them aside lightly. Often have we entered the 
house of worship, prepared to be drawn back into 
the influence of its once familiar surroundings : we 
beheld again the great assembly, we heard the 
solemn music, we listened to the preacher as he 
strove to impress upon a silent multitude, the 
lessons of the higher life. But in the prayers we 
could not join, and the words to which the music 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 9 1 

moved we could not sing, and the maxims of the 
preacher were couched in language, and enforced 
with doctrinal arguments that touched no chord in 
our hearts. We left disappointed, we had received 
no help : if this were religion, we felt ourselves more 
distant from religion than ever before. 

On the banks of the Euphrates there flourished 
of old an extensive colony of Jews. A “Prince of 
the Captivity” revived the memory of the vanished 
glory of King David’s house. High schools were 
erected that afforded a common centre to the 
scattered members of the Jewish Faith. In these 
the people beheld at once their bond of connection 
wdth the past, and the pledge of future restoration 
to their patrimony. In the early part of the middle 
ages, a prayer for the health and prosperity of the 
presidents of the high schools was inserted into the 
liturgy. Well nigh eight hundred years have 
elasped since these dignitaries, and the schools 
themselves, have ceased to exist, yet the prayer is 
still retained, and may be heard repeated on any 
Sabbath in the synagogues of the orthodox — a 
prayer for the health of the Prince and the high 
schools on the Euphrates that vanished from the 
face of the earth eight hundred years ago. Thus 
do religious forms continue to maintain themselves 
long after their vitality is perished and their very 
meaning is forgotten. But if the prevalent forms 


9 2 


CREED AND DEED. 


have ceased to satisfy us, can we therefore dispense 
with form altogether ? If the house that has given 
us shelter is in ruins, shall we therefore live in the 
woods and fields, or shall we not rather erect a new 
mansion on a broader foundation, and with firmer 
walls ? It has been the bane of liberalism, that it 
was simply critical and not constructive. Your 
thought must have not wings only, but hands and 
feet to walk and work, to form and reform. Lib- 
eralism must have its organs, must enter the race 
with its rivals ; must not criticise only, but do 
better. Liberalism must pass the stage of individ- 
ualism, must become the soul of great combinations. 
What then shall be the form adequate to express 
the new Ideal ? 

The form of any religion is the image of its ideal. 
To illustrate what this means, let us consider for a 
moment the origin of the synagogue and the church. 

The orthodox opinion that Judaism was revealed 
to Moses fourteen hundred years B. C. is con- 
demned by modern critics of the Bible. The 
following are some of the considerations that have 
influenced their verdict. First, we read in scripture 
that so late as the reign of David, idolatry was still 
rampant among the Hebrews, and the attempt to 
explain this fact upon the theory of a relapse, is 
contrary to the testimony of the Bible itself. 

Secondly : The name of Moses is unknown to 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 93 

the prophets, his ostensible successors, a circum- 
stance which would remain inexplicable if Moses 
had indeed been the founder of monotheism. 

Thirdly : Large portions of the Pentateuch were 
probably not composed before the sixth or fifth 
century B. C., that is to say about a thousand years 
after the time of Moses. The account they give of 
the early history of the people is therefore open to 
serious and just doubt. The prophets were the real 
authors of monotheism. The priestly code of the 
Pentateuch does not represent the form of Judaism 
which they taught. They are not chargeable with 
the technicalities and dry formalism of the “ Books 
of Moses.” They were the avowed enemies of the 
priesthood and for a long time engaged in fierce 
struggles with the ruling hierarchy. Their doctrines 
were in the essence these : That there is a Creator, 
that he is just and merciful, that the same qualities 
in man are the most acceptable species of divine 
service, that God directs all events, whether great or 
small ; and that it is the duty of man to accept the 
guidance of the Deity, and to follow with tireless 
diligence the clews of the Divine Will. Jehovah is to 
be reverenced not only as a spiritual, but also as a 
temporal sovereign, and the prophets are his minis- 
ters commissioned to transmit his decrees to men. 
Thus Monotheism found expression in the form of 
Theocratic government. It is true the heathen world 


94 


CKEED AND DEED. 


was not yet prepared to enter into so near a rela- 
tionship with the Creator. On this account the Jews 
were selected to be a typical people, and the King- 
dom of God was for the time being confined to them. 
It is evident from the above that the order of the 
prophets was the very mainstay of the Theocratic 
fabric. When these inspired messengers ceased to 
appear, the conclusion was drawn that the Will of 
God had been fully revealed. The writings of the 
prophets were then collected into sacred books, and 
were regarded as the constitution of the divine em- 
pire. When Jerusalem was destroyed, the sacrifices 
were discontinued and Judaism was purged of many 
heathenish elements which had been allowed to mar 
the simplicity of the prophetic religion. The syna- 
goguetook the place of the Temple, and an intricate 
code of ceremonies was gradually elaborated, intended 
to remind the pious Jew at all hours and seasons of 
his duties toward God, and the peculiar mission ac- 
corded to his people. The synagogue was a single 
prominent peak in the range of the religious life, a 
rallying point for the members of the Jewish com- 
munity, a meeting house where they assembled to 
confirm their allegiance to their heavenly King. 

Now the cardinal point of difference between 
primitive Christianity and Judaism related to the 
alleged abrogation of the ancient constitution set 
forth in the old Testament. Christianity said : The 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 


95 


Messiah has come ; the law of Moses is fulfilled ; 
the King has issued a new constitution, and sent his 
own Son to put it in force. The time has arrived 
when the Kingdom of God need no longer be re- 
stricted to a single people. Jesus who perished on 
the cross will presently return, and the universal 
theocracy will then be proclaimed. But Jesus did 
not return, his followers waited long and patiently, 
but they waited in vain. As time rolled on, they 
learned to dwell less upon the expected Millennium 
on earth, and to defer the fulfilment of their hopes 
to the life beyond the grave. In the interval they 
perfected the organization of the church. The 
Christian Ideal of the Kingdom of Heaven is that of 
a communion of all saints under the sovereignty of 
God through Christ. The Christian Church is de- 
signed to be an image of this Ideal, a communion 
of saintly men on earth, accepting Christ as their 
Master. Christianity aspired to be the universal 
religion ; there should be no barriers any more be- 
tween man and man ; the exclusiveness of ancient 
Judaism should be broken down; yet withal the 
barriers of a new creed soon arose in place of the 
old ; the portals of the Kingdom of Heaven were 
rigidly closed against all who refused to bow to the 
despotism of dogma ; and the virtues of pagans were 
declared to be shining vices. The moral teachings 
of Christ are gentle and kindly, but in the doctrinal 


9 6 


CREED AND DEED. 


contentions of the Christians the spirit of the Master 
was forgotten, and the earth was deluged with blood. 

And now the new Ideal differs from Christianity 
in this, that it seeks to approach the goal of a King- 
dom of Heaven upon earth, not by the miraculous 
interference of the Deity, but by the laborious exer- 
tions of men, and the slow but certain progress of 
successive generations. We have named the form 
of religion an image of the Ideal, yet an image 
poor and incomplete at best, rather a symbol, a 
suggestion of what can never be realized. In the 
realm of art we do not find the soul of beauty in the 
colored canvas or the marble statue ; these are 
helpful hieroglyphics only, teaching those that can 
read their mute language to create anew the ideal as 
it lived in the artist’s soul, in the divine hour of 
conception. Thus all form has its value only in 
what it suggests. Our Ideal is that of the fellow- 
ship of humanity in highest wisdom, highest truth 
and highest love. The form of this ideal therefore 
can be none other than a new fellowship united by 
the higher truths and purer love that make its bond 
to be a symbol of the highest! We are weary of 
the unreal and untrue existence we are forced to 
lead ; we are weary of the emptiness of routine, 
weary of the false coin of reputation that passes 
current in the market of vanity fair ; we are weary of 
the low standards by which actions are judged, and 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 


97 


to which, to our dismay, we perceive our actions in- 
sensibly conform. But the pressure of social influ- 
ences about us is enormous, and no single arm can 
resist it. We must needs band together then, if we 
would achieve a higher life ; we must create for our- 
selves a purer atmosphere, if any rarer virtues are to 
flourish in our midst ; we must make our own public 
opinion, to buoy us up in every loftier aspiration. 
Unions we want that will hold, not religion as a 
duty, but duty as a religion ; union to achieve a 
larger morality. Three things morality demands of 
us as interpreted in the light of our present social 
conditions : greater simplicity in manners, greater 
purity in the passions, greater charity. 

The habit of luxurious living is eating into the 
vitals of society, is defiling the family, and corrupt- 
ing the state. Let me not be falsely understood. 
All that is luxury which political economists are 
wont to class as unproductive consumption. In 
this sense, books, music and pictures are luxuries, 
and who would be willing to forego them. It 
becomes us to the utmost of our powers to satisfy 
the thirst for knowledge, and to educate the sense 
of harmony : it is wise to expend generously upon 
every means of culture and refinement. But this 
we must bear in mind, that there should be a rank 
and a proper subordination among our tastes and 
desires. Now that is luxury in the evil, in the de- 
5 


9 8 


CREED AND DEED. 


basing sense of the term, that we subvert the natu- 
ral order of our tastes, that we make the mere grati- 
fication of the animal passions, the mere pursuit of 
wealth, the mere adornment of our clay, main objects, 
while the graces of intellect perish, and the adorn- 
ment of the soul is neglected. Say not, we will do 
the one, and not leave undone the other; for the 
inordinate degree to which the meaner passions are 
developed, dulls our sense of loftier needs. We can- 
not serve these two masters. Frivolous in prosper- 
ity, we become helpless in adversity and perish in- 
wardly, our growth stunted, our nobler sympathies 
blunted, long before we are bedded in our graves. 
What single effort can achieve a change ? Fellowship, 
friends are needed, and a public opinion on behalf of 
simplicity. 

And purity in the passions is needed. An ugly 
sore is here concealed, a skeleton in the closet of 
which men speak with bated breath. Is there not 
such a thing as sanctity of the person ! Did you not 
rebel against human slavery because you said it 
was wrong that any being born in the image of 
man should be the tool of another ? And no argu- 
ments could deceive you — not if the slave offered 
himself willingly to the yoke, and rejoiced in his bond- 
age. You dared not so sin against human nature, and 
accept that offer. And yet New York has its slaves, 
Boston its slaves, and every large town on the face 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 


99 


of the wide earth has this sinful, outcast army of 
slaves — tools, whom we have robbed of that which 
no human being has a right to barter, the right to 
virtue at least, if not to happiness. Call not that a 
law of nature, which is the lawlessness of nature! 
Say not, it has ever been thus, and ever shall be ! 
From depths of vice which the imagination dare not 
recall, humanity has slowly risen to its present 
level, and higher and higher will it take its course 
when the conscience is quickened and true love 
expands. Fellowship is needed to support this 
difficult virtue and a public opinion on behalf 
of purity. 

And charity, friends ; not that which we com- 
monly called charity; but charity that prevents 
rather than cures. You pass through the lower 
quarters of our city, you see the misery, the filth, 
the gaunt, grim poverty, the careworn faces, the 
candidates for starvation. Starvation ! whoever 
hears of it ? The newspapers rarely speak of it ; 
here or there an exceptional case. Nay truly, these 
people do not starve ; they die of a cold perhaps ; 
the small-pox came and carried them off: diphtheria 
makes its ravage among them. Ah, but was it not 
want that sapped their strength, and made them 
powerless to resist disease? Was it not their life of 
pinched pauperism that ripened them for the reap- 
er's scythe ? Then pass from these sorrowful sights 





100 


CREED AND DEED. 


to our stately Avenue. Behold the gay world of 
fashion, its painted pomp, its gilded sinfulness, its 
heartless extravagance. Is not this an intolerable 
contrast ? Shall we rest quiet under the talk of irre- 
mediable evils? Is it not true that something must 
be done, and can be done because it must ? The 
distribution of wealth they say, is governed by eco- 
nomic laws, and sentiment has no right to be consid- 
ered in affairs of business. But where I pray you is 
the sentiment of brotherly love considered as it 
should be? Educate the masses ! But do we edu- 
cate them ? Stimulate their self-respect and teach 
them self-help ! But what large or effective measures 
are we taking to this most desirable end ? You can- 
not help, good friend, nor I. But a dozen might aid 
somewhat, and a thousand brave unselfish hearts 
knit together for such a purpose, who shall say what 
mighty changes they could work. Surely fellowship 
is needed here, and a public opinion on behalf of 
charity. 

The “fine phrase,” humanity has pregnant mean- 
ings. They stand for the grandest, the sternest re- 
alities of the times. Purity, charity and simplicity, 
these shall be the watchwords of a new fellowship, 
which shall practice the teachings of humanity, that 
are vain as the empty wind, if heard only and ap- 
proved, but not made actual in our deeds. 

And yet some will smile incredulously and ask, 



THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 


IOI 


Where are the men and women prepared to under- 
take such a task ? It is true, we must begin at the 
beginning. From earliest childhood the young must 
be trained on a nobler method, and in the ethical 
school lies the main work of preparation. There 
every step in the course of development must be 
carefully considered, vigilantly watched and wisely 
directed, to the one crowning purpose of ripening 
the young minds and hearts for that fellowship of 
love and hope. 

A new fellowship, a new order, I say boldly, 
whose members shall not be bound by any vows, 
which shall have no convents, no mysteries, but 
shall make itself an exemplar of the virtues it preach- 
es, a form of the ideal. The perils that attend such 
organizations are great ; we will not attempt to un- 
derrate their gravity, but we believe they can be 
overcome. The spirit of co-operation lends mighty 
momentum to every cause ; it depends upon the 
cause itself whether the influence exerted shall be 
for good or evil. And there has been in history a 
single order at least of the kind which I describe : 
“ The brotherhood of the common life,” it was 
called ; an order composed of earnest, studious men, 
to whom the upheaval of Europe in the sixteenth 
century was largely due ; a noble brotherhood that 
prepared the way for the great Reformation. The 
Catholic orders are dedicated to the world to come ; 


102 


CREED AND DEED. 


the order of the Ideal will be dedicated to the 
world of the living: to deepen and broaden the con- 
science of men will be its mission. 

The propaganda of Liberalism in the past has 
been weak and barren of great results. Strong per- 
sonalities it has brought forth ; around these soci- 
eties have clustered and fallen asunder when the 
personal magnet was withdrawn. What we need 
is institutions of which persons shall be merely 
the exponents ; institutions that must be grounded 
on the needs of the present, and that shall last by 
their own vitality, to future ages and to the increase 
of future good. 

It is the opening of the spring.* After its long 
winter sleep, the earth reawakens, and amid the 
fierce storms of the Equinox nature ushers in the 
season of flowers and of summer’s golden plenty. It 
is the day of Easter. Loudly the bells are pealing 
and joyous songs celebrate in the legend of “ Christ 
risen from the grave,” the marvel of the Resurrec- 
tion. What we cannot credit of an individual, is 
true of the nations. After long periods of seeming 
torpor and death, humanity ever arises anew from 
the dust, shakes off its slumbers, and clothes itself 
with fresher vigor and diviner powers. 

Let the hope of the season animate us. Let it 

* The above discourse was delivered on Easter Sunday, April ist, 

1877. 


THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL. 


103 


fill our souls with confidence in our greater desti- 
nies ; let it teach us to trust in them and to labor 
for them, that a new Ideal may vivify the palsied 
hearts and a new spring tide come, and a new Eas- 
ter dawn arise over all mankind. 


VI. 


THE RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF 
WOMEN. 

No thoughtful person can fail to appreciate the 
enormous influence which women are constantly ex- 
ercising for good and evil upon the destinies of the 
world. The charms and graces of existence, what- 
ever ennobles and embellishes life, we owe mainly 
to them. They are the natural guardians of moral- 
ity, and from age to age the mothers of households 
have preserved the sacred fire on the domestic 
hearth, whereat every virtue is kindled. But they 
have also been the most formidable enemies of pro- 
gress. Their conservatism is usually of the most un- 
reasoning kind, and the tenacity with which they 
cling to favorite prejudices is rarely overcome either 
by argument or appeal. They have been from time 
immemorial the dupes, the tools, and the most effect- 
ive allies of priestcraft. Their hostility to the cause 
of Reform has been so fatal, not only because of the 
direct influence of their actions, but because of that 
subtle power which they exert so skilfully over the 
minds of husbands, brothers and friends, by the arts 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. 105 

of remonstrance, entreaty and the contagion of their 
feeble alarms. The question whether their hostility 
can be turned into friendship, is one of momentous 
importance for the leaders of the Liberal movement 
to consider. 

In the following we shall endeavor to make plain 
that the subordinate position hitherto assigned to 
women, is the principal cause that has impelled them 
to take sides against religious progress. 

Among the primitive races woman was reduced 
to a condition of abject slavery. Affection of the 
deeper kind was unknown. The wife was robbed 
or purchased from her relations ; was treated as 
a menial by her husband, and often exposed to 
the most brutal abuse. As civilization advanced, 
the marriage bond became more firm, and com- 
mon interest in the offspring of the union served 
to create common sympathies. Among the Greeks, 
the ideal of domestic life was pure and elevated. 
The tales of Andromache, Penelope and Alcestes 
illlustrate the strength of conjugal fidelity and 
the touching pathos of love that outlasts death. 
The Grecian home was fenced about with scrupu- 
lous care and strictest privacy protected its inmates 
from temptation. It was the duty of the wife to 
superintend the internal economy of the household, 
to spin and weave, to direct the slaves in their 
various occupations, to nurse them when sick, to 


io 6 


CREED AND DEED. 


watch over the young children, and chiefly to insure 
the comfort and satisfaction of her lord. His cares 
and ambitions indeed she hardly shared. She never 
aspired to be his equal, and simple obedience to his 
wishes was the supreme virtue impressed upon her 
by education, and enforced by habit. Among the 
Romans, the character of the matron is described in 
the most laudatory and reverential terms. Still the 
laws of the Republic made woman practically the 
bondswoman of man. It is well-known that our 
English word family is derived from the Latin 
where it originally means the household of slaves. 
The matron too, was counted, at least theoretically, 
among these slaves, and the right of deciding her 
fate literally for life or death, belonged exclusively 
to her husband. It is true in the cordial intimacy 
of the monogamic bond, the austerity of usage, and 
the harshness of the laws are often tempered by 
affection and mutual respect ; yet we are aptly re- 
minded by a modern writer on this subject, that the 
law which remains a dead letter to the refined and 
cultivated becomes the instrument of the most 
heartless oppression in the hands of the vulgar and 
the passionate. 

Among the Hebrews, a position of great dignity 
and consequence was sometimes accorded to their 
women. The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob 
played an important part in directing the affairs of 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. 107 

the Patriarchal households. A woman performed 
the functions of judge and leader of armies, women 
sat upon the throne, prophetesses were consulted in 
grave matters of the State and of religion ; in the 
absence of sons, the Mosaic law guarantees to daugh- 
ters the right of succession to the family estate. 
The later writings of the Jews are likewise replete 
with noble sentiments touching the sanctity of the 
conjugal tie. Many of the ordinances of the Tal- 
mud depend upon women for their execution, and 
this circumstance alone must have contributed to 
raise them in the popular estimation. In every 
marriage contract a certain sum was set apart for 
the wife, in case of her husband’s death or of di- 
vorce. Still the right of dissolving the matrimonial 
connection belonged exclusively to the husband, 
although under certain conditions he could be forced 
by the court to issue the “ writ of separation.” 
However the wife might be honored and loved, she 
was ever regarded as man’s inferior. 

The influence of Christianity upon the position 
of women, was twofold, and in opposite directions. 
On the one hand women had been among the first 
and most devoted followers of Jesus; women were 
largely instrumental in effecting the conversion of 
the Roman Empire, and in the list of martyrs, their 
names shine preeminent. On the other hand, the 
church in the early centuries cast an unpardonable 


io8 


CREED AND DEED. 


slur on the marriage relation. We read of young 
maidens fleeing the society of dear companions and 
friends, to escape the temptation of the affections, 
of faithful wives,, filled with inexpressible loathing 
at a connection which they deemed contrary to the 
dictates of religion, and deserting husbands and 
children. The desire of love was poisafned with a 
sense of guilt. The celibacy of the clergy, finally 
enforced by Pope Hildebrand, gave rise to the most 
shocking irregularities. All this tended to degrade 
the female sex. 

At the time of the crusades a partial revulsion 
of feeling took place. The spirit of chivalry entered 
the church, the character of woman was transfigured, 
and the worship of the Virgin Mary spread in con- 
sequence throughout Europe. A change in the 
education of girls was one of the results of the 
rise of Chivalry. Music and poetry became its 
chief elements ; women were fed on intellectual 
sweetmeats, but strong and healthy nourishment 
was still denied them. 

In all the different stages of progress which we 
have thus rapidly scanned, the assumption of man’s 
superiority to woman was held as an incontestible 
article of belief, and even the chivalric ideal is only 
a more amiable and disguised expression of the same 
view. 

What effect the disabilities under which they 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. IO9 

labored must have had upon the religious life of 
women will readily be perceived. There are two 
attitudes of mind peculiarly favorable to ortho- 
doxy ; the one a tendency to lean on authority, the 
other a disposition to give free sway to the feel- 
ings without submitting them to the checks of rea- 
son. Now it is plain that the condition of de- 
pendence to which society has condemned woman 
is calculated to develop these very qualities to an 
abnormal degree. From early childhood she re- 
ceives commands and is taught to distrust her own 
judgment. When she enters the bonds of matri- 
mony she becomes dependent on her husband for 
support, and in the vast majority of cases, his riper 
judgment shames her inexperience. In all graver 
matters she must perforce defer to his decision. 
Accustomed to rely on authority, is it surprising 
that in matters of religion, where even men confess 
their ignorance, she should rejoice in the authority 
of the priest, whose directions relieve her of doubt 
and supply a ready channel for her thoughts and acts. 
Again the feelings are her natural weapons, shall she 
not trust them ! The stability and security of so- 
ciety are the conditions on which her dearest hopes 
depend for their realization. Can she welcome the 
struggles of innovation. All her feelings cluster 
about the religious traditions of the past; all a 
woman’s heart pleads for their maintenance. 


no 


CREED AND DEED. 


Now to confine the feelings of woman within 
their proper bounds, it is necessary to give wider 
scope, and a more generous cultivation to her in- 
tellect ; in brief to allow her the same freedom of 
development as is universally accorded to man. 
Freedom makes strong, and the confidence of others 
generates an independent and self-reliant spirit in 
ourselves. It is indeed often urged that woman is 
by nature the inferior of man. But the appeal 
to physiology seems to be at least premature ; the 
relation of the size of the brain to intellectual ca- 
pacity being by no means clearly determined ; while 
the appeal to history is, if possible, even more treach- 
erous, because it cites the evils engendered by an 
ancient and long continued* system of oppression in 
favor of the system itself. Counting all the disad- 
vantages against which woman has been forced to 
contend, and which have hampered her every effort 
to elevate her condition, it is truly marvelous, not 
that she has done so little, but that she has accom- 
plished that which she has. Even in the difficult 
art of government she has earned well merited dis- 
tinction, and women are named among the wisest 
and most beneficent rulers of ancient and modern 
times.* What the possibilities of woman’s nature 
may be, no one can tell ; least of all she herself. 
As it is she is credited with a superior power of 
* J. S. Mill, The Subjection of Women, p. ioo. 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. Ill 


intuition, a readier insight into character, a more 
complete mastery of details. What larger powers 
now latent a broader culture will bring to light, re- 
mains for the future to show. 

But we are told that the sphere of woman’s work 
is in the home, and that properly to perform her 
vocation there, she does not need the vigorous 
training required for men. That woman’s mission 
ought to be and happily is in the majority of cases 
in the home, no one will gainsay. At the same 
time, we should not close our eyes to patent facts, 
facts such as these ; that the number of women 
whose mission actually does not lie in the home, is 
exceedingly great ; that according to the last census 
of the United States, for instance, the female popu- 
lation of the State of New York, is fifty-six thousand 
in excess of the male ; that well nigh two millions of 
women in this country are engaged in working for 
their.livelihood. Is it not cruel mockery to say to 
these women that their business is in the household ? 
If the condition of things is such that they must 
seek outside labor ; if we permit them to toil by 
hundreds of thousands in the fields and factories, on 
what plea of right or reason can we deny them ad- 
mission to the higher grades of service ? Is it not 
simple justice to admit them to all the professions, 
and to allow them the same advantages in colleges 
and professional schools as are enjoyed by men ? 


1 12 


CREED AND DEED. 


We need not fear that the privilege will be abused. 
If women undertake to engage in pursuits for which 
they are physically or mentally unfit, the effect of 
competition will quickly discourage them, and here 
as elsewhere, only the fittest will survive. 

But aside from those who are destined to 
remain single, and considering the seven millions of 
women, or more, who will become wives and 
mothers of families ; is not the demand for higher 
education equally imperative in their case ? Young 
girls are but too often educated to be the agreeable 
companions, rather than the partners of their future 
husbands. They receive sufficient instruction to 
give them a general acquaintance with the surface 
of things, but not sufficient to develop what ought 
to be the chief end of every scheme of education — 
a permanent intellectual interest in any one direction. 
Much time is wasted on minor accomplishments. 
At an age when the young girl is still totally 
immature, she is often withdrawn from the influence 
of her preceptors, and hurried from dissipation to 
dissipation, to tread the round of society’s gayeties, 
and to inhale the poisonous atmosphere of flattery 
and conventional falsehoods. She enters a new 
world. The contrast between the restraints of 
school life, and her novel sense of consequence in- 
toxicates her ; the desire for pleasure becomes a 
passion ; the books of useful information, that never 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. 1 1 3 

possessed a real charm for her. are cast aside, and the 
literature of the sentiments alone retains its attrac- 
tions during the remainder of life. It is not aston- 
ishing that those whose minds are thus left barren, 
should employ their leisure hours in frivolous or vi- 
cious occupations ; that an exorbitant luxury, the sign 
at all times, of deficient culture, should have infected 
the community. It is not wonderful that when the 
trials of life approach, these women grasp wildly at 
the nearest superstition, and prostrate themselves 
before any idol of the vulgar, in their blind igno- 
rance and credulity. 

I have said that higher education can alone 
make marriage what it ought to be, for it is not 
fancy or the glow of passion that can bind the hearts 
together in lasting wedlock. The marriage bond 
has deeper meanings. Two souls are united, each 
to be all in all to each. Here shall be the very con- 
summation of love ; love, that precious boon that 
assuages every pang, and stills every grief, and 
triumphs over sickness, sorrow, and the tomb. 
All nature’s symbols fail to express its fulness; it 
has the hope of the dawning day ; it has the tender 
pathos of the light of the moon ; it has the melody 
of birds, the mystic stillness of the forest, the in- 
finity of the fathomless sea ! Bounteous love, how 
inexhaustible are its treasures ! The fires of the 
passions kindle affection, but cannot secure it. If 


CREED AND DEED. 


1 14 

there be only the stubble of desire in the heart, that 
will quickly be consumed ; if there be veins of true 
gold there, that will be melted and refined. Years 
pass, youth fades, the attendant train of the graces 
vanishes, loveliness falls like a mask, but the union 
only becomes firmer and trustier, because it is a 
union, not of the sentiments merely, but of the 
souls. The wife becomes the true sharer of her 
husband’s thoughts ; mutual confidence reigns be- 
tween them ; they grow by mutual furtherance ; 
each sees in each the mirror of his nobler self ; they 
are the true complement one to the other. Who 
does not know that such unions are rare ! Common 
sympathies, common duties do indeed create a tol- 
erable understanding in most households ; but that 
is not wedlock that men and women should jog on 
tolerably well together for the better part of a life- 
time. 

The modern mind is constantly broadening ; 
new facts, new discoveries are constantly coming to 
light, and loftier problems engage the attention of 
thinkers. If woman would not be utterly left be- 
hind in the race, then must she make an effort to 
acquire more solid knowledge, and educational 
reform is the first step in the cause of woman’s 
emancipation. The electoral franchise, and what- 
ever other measures may be included in the popu- 
lar phrase of “ Woman’s rights” should be reserved 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. 1 1 5 

for future discussion. If practicable at all, they are 
assuredly for the present of secondary importance. 

Permit me to close by briefly formulating a few 
points that seem to me to deserve special consid- 
eration in this connection. 

Woman, like man, should comprehend the age in 
which she lives and the great questions by which it 
is agitated. To this end a knowledge of history, 
and chiefly the history of her own nation, is requi- 
site. She should learn to understand the principles 
of the language she speaks, and the literature in 
which it is preserved, not from dry text-books, but 
from the living works of the authors themselves. 
She should be able to pass an intelligent judgment 
upon the political issues of the day, that take up 
so large a share of men’s conversation, and to this 
end the rudiments of political science might profit- 
ably be taught her. She should possess sufficient 
familiarity with the natural sciences to comprehend 
at least the main results of scientific investigations, 
and a training of this kind would have the further 
advantage of accustoming her mind to the methods 
of accurate thinking. She should gain some knowl- 
edge of the human body and of the laws upon which 
its health depends. Is it not strange that this im- 
portant branch of knowledge is so generally neg- 
lected in the training of those who are to be moth- 
ers of the future generation? How often would 


ii 6 


CREED AND DEED. 


proper attention to a few simple rules of hygiene 
prevent sickness ; how often would more efficient 
nursing avert death, where it is now freely allowed 
to enter. Then too the outlines of pedagogy should 
be included in a course of advanced instruction for 
women. Mothers are the educators of the children, 
but the educators themselves require to be edu- 
cated. 

If the intellect of girls were braced and stimula- 
ted in this manner, they would exhibit greater self- 
possession and self-reliance in their later lives ; they 
would be less apt to be deluded by false appeals to - 
the feelings : “ the woman’s view ” would be no 
longer proverbial for the weaker view ; the whole 
of society would feel the beneficent change, and the 
problem which we set out to discuss in the begin- 
ning would in due time solve itself. 

We do not for a moment apprehend that the in- 
creased cultivation of the intellect would entail any 
loss of sweetness or of those gracious qualities that 
make the charm of womanhood. Wherever such a 
result has been apparently observed, it is safe to as- 
cribe it to other causes. Truth and beauty are far 
too closely akin in their inmost nature to exclude 
each other. Nor do we fear that the intensity of 
moral feeling, for which women are distinguished, 
would suffer under the restraining influence of rea- 
son’s guidance. The moral feelings would indeed 


RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN. 1 17 

be purified, elevated and directed to their proper 
objects by the judicious use of reason; they would 
not therefore be enfeebled. In the past, the con- 
servatism of women has been a mighty obstacle in 
the path of progress. It is but just to add that at 
the dawn of every great religious movement which 
promised the moral advancement of the race, gifted 
women, rising above the weakness of their sisters, 
have been among the earliest to welcome the new 
hope for humanity ; have been among the most 
ardent, the most self-sacrificing of its disciples. 
The Liberal movement of our day also is essentially 
a movement for larger morality, and more and more 
as this feature will be clearly developed, may it hope 
to gain the sympathies of brave and good women 
to its side. In their support it will behold at once 
the criterion of its worthiness, and the surest pledge 
of its ultimate triumph. 


VII. 


OUR CONSOLATIONS.* 

We go out in these balmy days of spring into the 
reviving fields, and the eye drinks in with delight 
the fresh and succulent green of the meadows ; the 
willows begin to put forth their verdant foliage, the 
brooks purl and babble of the new life that has 
waked in the forest : be glad, all nature cries, sum- 
mer is coming. And the freshness of the season 
enters into our own hearts, our pulses beat more 
quickly, our step is more buoyant. We remember 
all that is joyful in existence ; the arts that embel- 
lish, the aspirations that ennoble, the affections that 
endear it. Golden the future lies before us ; our 
very cares lose their sombre hues ; like the golden 
islands of cloud that glow in the glory of sunset 
skies. 

But beneath the fair semblance of nature that for 
a time deludes our senses, a dark and terrible reality 
is concealed. Observe how pitilessly the destruc- 
tive elements pursue their path, the earthquake the 

* A discourse delivered on Sunday, April 29, 1877. 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


1 19 

tornado, the epidemic. A few months ago a rise of 
the sea swept away two hundred thousand human 
lives in the course of a few hours. Myriads of sen- 
tient beings are daily cast up in the summer to per- 
ish with the first breath of cold. In the animal 
world, the strong feed upon the weak, and the re- 
morseless struggle for existence extends even into 
the sphere of human activity. At this very moment 
the whole of Europe is filled with anxious alarm in 
view of an impending war of conquest. While in- 
dustry is paralyzed, while trade is at a stand-still, 
while a virulent disease generated by starvation has 
broken out in Silesia, and the workmen of Lyons 
have become dependent on the public charity of 
France, the resources of nations, already well nigh 
exhausted, are drained to prepare for the emergen- 
cies of conflict. With a secret thrill of terror we 
read that beds for the wounded and millions of 
roubles for hospital appliances are being voted by 
the municipalities of Russia. Readily the imagina- 
tion can picture to itself what these ghastly prep- 
arations mean. It is true, so long as all is well with 
us, the larger evils of the world do not greatly dis- 
turb our equanimity. Man has the happy faculty 
of abstracting his attention from things remote. 
The accumulated woes of a continent affect us 
less than some trifling accident in our immediate 
vicinity. But when the messengers of evil have 


120 


CREED AND DEED. 


cast their shadows across our threshold, when 
calamity has laid its heavy hand upon our shoulder, 
it is then that the general unsatisfactoriness of life 
recurs to us with added force in view of our own ex- 
perience ; the splendor fades from the surrounding 
scene ; every dark stain takes on a deeper blackness, 
and the gloom that comes from within fills and ob- 
scures the entire field of our vision. We have sus- 
tained financial loss, perhaps we are harrowed by 
domestic discord, we are suddenly stricken in the 
midst of health, and drag on long years as hopeless 
invalids, or worse still, we stand at the bedside of 
some dear friend or kinsman, see him stretched upon 
the rack of pain, and can do nothing to alleviate his 
sufferings ; we see the end slowly nearing ; but oh, 
the weary waiting, the patient’s agonizing cry for 
death, the cruel struggle that must still intervene. 
And when at last, it is over, and we have laid him 
away under the sod, and returned to our desolate 
homes, what hope remains ! Whither now, we 
ask, shall we turn for consolation ? Is there no out- 
look from this night of trouble ? Is there no winged 
thought, that will bear us upward from out the 
depths; is there no solace to assuage our pangs? 

Among the means of consolation commonly rec- 
ommended the doctrine of Immortality seems to be 
regarded as the most appropriate and effective. It is 
needless to lament ; the deceased has entered a bet- 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


1 2 1 


ter life. Yet a little and you will join him to be no 
more parted. Nor can we deny that to those who 
cordially entertain it, the belief in the soul’s immortal 
continuance' becomes a source of pure and inexpres- 
sibly tender satisfaction. But with a certain class of 
minds — and their number, I believe, is on the increase 
— the consoling influence of this doctrine is marred 
by the fatal uncertainty in which the whole question 
is involved, and which no efforts of man have ever 
yet, nor ever will, avail to remove. Christianity in- 
deed claims to have settled the point. The Deity 
himself, it avers, intervened by direct revelation from 
on high, to set our doubts at rest, and Jesus when he 
arose on the third day forever deprived the grave of 
its sting and took away our fears of the tomb. But 
to those who read the books of revelations with unbi- 
ased mind, the fact of their human authorship be- 
comes sadly apparent, and the resurrection itself is 
as difficult to prove as the doctrine which it is 
designed to substantiate. 

In modern times spiritualism has likewise endeav- 
ored to demonstrate to the senses the existence of 
a world of souls beyond our own. But the phenom- 
ena on which it lies are in part disputed, in part the 
interpretation put upon them, must, to say the least, 
be regarded as premature. 

Moreover we should remember that even if by 
some unknown means the fact of immortality could 
6 


122 


CREED AND DEED. 


be established, the question of our re-union with 
friends in the hereafter, in which alone the heart of 
the mourner is interested, would still remain an open 
one and might be answered in the negative. The 
belief in immortality has been held in this way by 
some of the greatest intellects of the human race, 
Spinoza among the rest. If we knew that we shall 
continue to live, we should not therefore know how 
we shall continue to live. Perhaps it might prove 
that all our previous connections would be severed ; 
and who can tell what new phases of existence, 
what endless metamorphoses might await us among 
the infinite possibilities of Eternity. 

So deep seated is the sense of uncertainty con- 
cerning our fate beyond the tomb, that no religion, 
however great the control which it exerted over men, 
has ever been able to banish it entirely from their 
hearts. The most ardent Christian is hardly less anx- 
ious than the infidel to retain those who are dear to 
him in life. He prays as fervently for their health 
as though their present state were the sum total of 
their existence. And yet he should rather hail the 
day of death as a day of thanksgiving, and rejoice 
that those whom he loves have been translated to 
a sphere every way so much more desirable than 
our own. No, the natural feeling cannot be sup- 
pressed, loss is felt to be loss, and death remains 
death. No hope of a happier condition in the 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


23 


world to come, no confidence in the promises and 
prophesies of faith, can efface the sense of present 
bereavement, and as we all alike feel it, so are we 
all, believers and unbelievers, interested in seeking 
the means of its present relief. 

Some of the most fervid, religious natures of the 
past endeavored to escape the sorrows of the 
world by having recourse to the cruel remedy of 
asceticism. The ascetic ponders the origin of suf- 
fering : he sees that the desire for pleasure is the 
cause of pain. Were we not eager to possess we 
should not regret to lose. He cuts the gordian knot 
saying, abjure desire ! When you cease to want, you 
shall no longer be bruised. There are certain wants 
inherent in the body — the want of food, drink, sleep ; 
the heart has its needs — friendship, sympathy ; the 
mind — knowledge, culture. All these should be 
subdued. We should eat and drink the coarsest in 
quality and the least possible in quantity ; we 
should avoid the attachments of love ; we should be 
poor in spirit, and despise wisdom. The ascetic 
ideal took firm root in Christianity at an early period 
of its history. The extravagance of the Egyptian 
anchorites is well known. The ‘ pillar saint,” St. 
Simeon, who is said to have passed some thirty years 
of his life on the summit of a column twenty yards 
in height, taking only the scantiest nourishment, 
eschewing ablutions, covered with filth and sores, 


124 


CREED AND DEED. 


was worshipped as a holy man by the multitude and 
his example was followed by others, though with 
less rigor, during a period of nearly a thousand years. 
Among the Hindoos, too, the ascetic ideal acquired 
a baneful ascendency. We can hardly credit the 
tales that have come to us concerning the insane 
fanaticism which raged amongst this people. To 
what tortures of body and soul did they subject 
themselves, what cruel ordeals did they invent in 
order to steel themselves against the inevitable suf- 
ferings of life. It was their beau-ideal to achieve a 
state bordering upon absolute unconsciousness, in 
which the power of sensation might be entirely 
blunted, and even the existence of the physical man 
be forgotten. 

This, indeed, is a capital remedy, a species of 
heroic treatment that attains its end. Man 
becomes passive in pain, incapable of sorrow, 
unmoved by any loss. But with the pains, the 
joys of existence have likewise fled. The human 
being walks as a shadow among shadows, a soulless 
substance, the wretched semblance of his former 
self. Who would not rather bear the heaviest ills 
that flesh is heir to, than purchase his release at 
such a cost. 

And now in setting forth our own view of this 
mighty problem of human sorrow, let us bear in 
mind that our private hardships and those general 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


125 


evils which we see enacted on a scale of such ap- 
palling magnitude in the world around us, must be 
considered together, for the same cause constantly 
gives rise to both. It is of the utmost importance 
that we should weigh well what we have a right to 
expect, and ponder the conditions on which 
humanity holds the tenure of its existence. Per- 
haps our deepest disappointments are often due 
to the fact that we ask more than we have any 
legitimate title to receive, and judge the scheme of 
the Universe according to false analogies and pre- 
conceived notions which the constitution of things 
does not bear out. We are subject to two laws, 
the one the law of nature, the other that of mor- 
ality : the two clash and collide, and a conflict 
ensues. Theology labors to show that this con- 
flict is apparent rather than real, to admit it would 
seem to impugn the justice of the Deity. Thus we 
read in the Old Testament that when the sufferer 
Job protested his innocence, his friends assailed 
his veracity, and persisted in holding the bare fact 
of his misfortune as unimpeachable evidence of his 
sinfulness. And thus the Psalmist assures us, that 
he has grown old and never seen the righteous man 
in want. The experience of the Psalmist must have 
been limited indeed ! The conflict exists, however 
it may be denied. Nature is indifferent to morality, 
goes on regardless. The great laws that rule the 


126 


CREED AND DEED. 


Kosmos, act upon this planet of ours, nor heed our 
presence. If we chance to stand in the way, they 
grind us to pieces with grim uncpncern : the earth 
opens, the volcano sends forth its smoldering fires, 
populous cities are overwhelmed, locusts devastate 
the country ; they do not pause before the field of 
the righteous; they have no moral preference. 
The seeds of disease also are scattered broadcast 
over the land, and the best, often those whom we 
can least afford to lose, are taken. These are the 
hostile forces, and against these man must contend. 
To them he opposes his intellect, his moral energy; 
he seeks to adapt himself to his place in the 
universe. He discovers that these foes are blind, 
not necessarily his enemies, if he can trace their 
path. If he can read the secret of their working, 
they cease to threaten him ; he holds them with 
the reins of intellect, and binds them to his chariot, 
and behold like swift steeds they carry him whither- 
soever it pleases him, and on, on, they draw his car 
of progress. In this manner the sway of man’s 
genius is extended on earth. Already life is far 
easier than it was among our ancestors ten thousand 
years ago ; the epidemic is checked by wise 
sanitary regulations, greater justice prevails in gov- 
ernment, and the means of happiness are extended 
over wider areas of the population. What we thus 
behold realized on a partial scale, we conceive in 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


12 7 


our visions of the future to be indefinitely prolonged, 
the course of development leading to higher and 
higher planes, healthier conditions, wiser laws, 
nobler manners. The moral order will thus increase 
on earth. The moral order never is, but is ever 
becoming. It grows with our growth, and to bring 
on the triumph of intellect over mechanism, of 
responsible morality over irresponsible force, is our 
mission. The purpose of man’s life is not happi- 
ness, but worthiness. Happiness may come as an 
accessory, we dare never make it an end. There is 
that striving for the perfect within us : in it we live, 
by it we are exalted above the clod ; it is the one 
and only solace that never fails us, and the experi- 
ence of progress in the past, the hope of greater pro- 
gress in the future, is the redeeming feature of life. 
But the condition of all progress is experience ; we 
must go wrong a thousand times before we find the 
right. We struggle, and grope and injure ourselves 
until we learn the uses of things. Pain therefore be- 
comes a necessity, but it acquires in this view a new 
and nobler meaning, for it is the price humanity pays 
for an invaluable good. Every painful sickness, 
every premature death, becomes the means of 
averting sickness and death hereafter. Every form 
of violence, every social wrong, every inmost trib- 
ulation, is the result of general causes and becomes 
a goad in the sides of mankind, pressing them on to 


128 


CREED AND DEED. 


correct the hoary abuses it has tolerated, the 
vicious principles of government, education and 
economy to which it has conformed. Wide as the 
earth is the martyrdom of man, but the cry of 
the martyr is the creaking of the wheel which 
warns us that the great car of human progress is in 
motion. 

If we keep duly in mind the position which 
the human race occupies over against nature, we 
shall not accuse fate. Fate is our adversary; we 
must wrestle with it, we are here to establish the 
law of our own higher nature in defiance of fate. 
And this is the prerogative of man, that he need not 
blindly follow the law of his being, but that he is 
himself the author of the moral law, and creates it 
even in acting it out. We are all soldiers in the 
great army of mankind, battling in the cause of 
moral freedom ; some to fight as captains, others to 
do valiant service in the ranks ; some to shout the 
paean of victory, others to fall on the battle field or 
to retire wounded or crippled to the rear. But as 
in every battle so too in this, the fallen and the 
wounded have a share in the victory ; by their 
sufferings have they helped, and the greenest wreath 
belongs to them. 

It is strictly in accordance with the view we 
have taken, that we behold in the performance of 
duty the solace of affliction. All of us have felt, 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


129 


after some great bereavement, the beneficent in- 
fluence of mere labor : even the mechanical part of 
duty affords us some relief. The knowledge that 
something must be done calls us away from brood- 
ing over our griefs, and forces us back into the 
active currents of life. The cultivation of the in- 
tellect also is a part of man’s duty, and stands us in 
great stead in times of trouble. We should seek to 
accustom the mind to the aspect of large interests. 
In the pursuit of knowledge there is nothing of the 
personal : into the calm and silent realm of thought 
the feelings can gain no entrance. There, after the 
first spasms of emotion have subsided, we may find 
at least a temporary relief, — there for hours we drink 
in a happy oblivion. Rut more is needed, and the 
discharge of the duties of the heart alone can really 
console the heart. There is this secret in the 
affections, that they constantly add to our strength. 
Constant communion between allied natures leads 
to their mutual enrichment by all that is best in 
either. But when the rude hand of death interferes, 
We are as a stream whose outlet is barred, as a 
creeper whose stay is broken. A larger channel is 
needed then into which the waters of our love may 
flow, a firm support, to which the tattered tendrils of 
affection may cling anew. True, the close and inti- 
mate bond that unites friend to friend can have no 
substitute, but the warm love that obtains in the 
6 * 


130 


CREED AND DEED. 


personal relations may be expanded into a wider 
and impersonal love, which, if less intense, is 
broader, which, if less fond, is even more en- 
nobling. The love you can no longer lavish on 
one, the many call for it. The cherishing care you 
can no longer bestow upon your child, the neglected 
children of the poor appeal for it ; the sympathy 
you can no longer give your friend, the friendless 
cry for it. In alleviating the misery of others, your 
own misery will be alleviated, and in healing you 
will find that there is cure. 

This remedy is suggested in an ancient legend 
related of the Buddha, the great Hindoo reformer, 
who was so deeply affected by the ills of human 
life.* There came to him one day a woman who 
had lost her only child. She was wild with grief, 
and with disconsolate sobs and cries called frantic- 
ally on the prophet to give back her little one to 
life. The Buddha gazed on her long and with that 
tender sympathy which drew all hearts to him, said, 
“ Go my daughter, get me a mustard seed from a 
house into which death has never entered, and I 
will do as thou hast bidden me.” And the woman 
took up the dead child, and began her search. 
From house to house she went saying, “ Give me a 
mustard seed, kind folk, a mustard seed for the 

* We have ventured to offer this interpretation of the legend in 
an article published in the Atlantic Monthly for June, 1875, from 
which the account in the text is taken. 


OUR CONSOLATIONS. 


131 

prophet to revive my child.” And they gave her 
what she asked, and when she had taken it, she 
inquired whether all were gathered about the 
hearth, father and mother and the children ; but the 
people would shake their heads and sigh, and she 
would turn on her way sadder than before. And 
far as she wandered, in town and village, in the 
crowded thoroughfare, and by the lonely road side, 
she found not the house into which death had 
never entered. Then gradually as she went on, the 
meaning of the Buddha’s words dawned upon her 
mind ; gradually as she learned to know the great 
sorrow of the race every where around her, her 
heart went out in great yearning sympathy to the 
companions of her sorrow ; the tears of her pity 
fell free and fast, and the passion of her grief was 
merged in compassion. She had learned the great 
lesson of renunciation ; had learned to sink self in 
the unselfish. 

From the depths of the heart the stream of 
grief rises resistless, the dams and dykes of reason 
are impotent to stay its course. Prepare a channel 
therefore to lead out its swelling tide away to the 
great ocean of mankind’s sorrow, where in com- 
mingling it shall be absorbed. 

The consolations of the Ideal are vigorous : they 
do not encourage idle sentiment : they recommend 
to the sufferer, action. The loss indeed as we set 


i3 2 


CREED AND DEED. 


out by saying, remains a loss, and no preaching or 
teaching can ever make it otherwise. The question 
is, whether it shall weaken and embitter us, or 
become the very purification of our souls, and lead 
us to grander and diviner deeds, lead us to raise 
unto the dead we mourn, a monument in our lives 
that shall be better than any pillared chapel or 
storied marble tomb. 

Thus from whatever point we start, we arrive at 
the same conclusion still : “ not in the creed but in 
the deed!” In the deed is the pledge of the 
sacredness of life ; in the deed is the reward of our 
activities in health ; in the deed our solace, and our 
salvation even in the abysmal gulfs of woe. In 
hours of great sorrow we turn in vain to nature for 
an inspiring thought. We question the sleepless 
stars ; they are cold and distant : the winds blow, 
the rivers run their course, the seasons change ; they 
are careless of man. In the world of men alone do 
we find an answering echo to the heart’s needs. 
Let us grasp hands cordially and look into each 
other’s eyes for sympathy, while we travel together 
on our road toward the unknown goal. To help 
one another is our wisdom, and our renown, and 
our sweet consolation. 


VIII. 


SPINOZA. 

Two centuries have elapsed since Spinoza 
passed from the world of the living, and to-day that 
high and tranquil spirit walks the earth once more 
and men make wide their hearts to receive his 
memory and his name. The great men whom the 
past has wronged, receive at last time’s tardy 
recompense. 

On the day that Columbus set sail for America, 
the Jews left Spain in exile. Many of their number, 
however, who could not find it in their hearts to 
bid adieu to their native land, remained and simu- 
lated the practice of devout Catholics while in 
secret they preserved their allegiance to their 
ancestral religion. They occupied high places in 
the church and state, and monks, prelates and 
bishops were counted in their ranks. Ere long the 
suspicions of the Inquisition were alarmed against 
these covert heretics, and their position became 
daily more perilous and insecure. Some were con- 
demned to the stake, others pined for years in dun- 
geons ; those that could find the means, escaped 


I 34 


CREED AND DEED. 


and sought in distant lands security and repose 
from persecution. It was especially the Free States 
of Holland whose enlightened policy offered an 
asylum to the fugitives, and thither accordingly in 
great numbers they directed their steps. Their 
frugality, their thrift and enterprise, contributed 
not a little to build up the prosperity of the Dutch 
metropolis. 

In the opening of the seventeenth century a 
considerable congregation of the Jews had collected 
in the city of Amsterdam. There in the year 
1632, the child of Spanish emigrants, Benedict Spin- 
oza was born. Of his childhood we know little. 
At an early age he was initiated into the mysteries 
of Hebrew lore, was instructed in the Hebrew 
grammar, and learned to read and translate the 
various writings of the Old Testament. He was 
taught to' thread his way through the mazes of the 
Talmud, and its subtle discussions proved an admir- 
able discipline in preparing him for the favorite pur- 
suits of his after years. Lastly he was introduced 
to the study of the Jewish philosophers, among 
whom Maimonides and Ibn Ezra engaged his especial 
attention. Maimonides, one of the most profound 
thinkers of the middle ages, strove to harmonize the 
teachings of Aristotle with the doctrines of the 
Bible. Ibn Ezra on the other hand, was a confirmed 
sceptic. In his biblical commentaries he anticipates 


SPINOZA. 


135 


many noteworthy discoveries of modern criticism, 
and his orthodoxy in other respects also is more 
than doubtful. 

In all these different branches of theology the 
young Spinoza made rapid progress and soon gained 
astonishing proficiency. He was the favorite of his 
instructors, and they predicted that he would one 
day become a shining light of the synagogue. Not 
content, however, with this course of study, Spinoza 
addressed himself to the study of Roman literature, 
and with the assistance of a certain Dr. Van den 
Ende, who had at that time gained considerable 
repute as a teacher of liberal learning, he soon 
became an accomplished Latin scholar. He also 
took up the study of Geometry and of Physics, and 
acquired considerable skill in the art of sketching. 
His mind being thus stored with various knowledge, 
he was prepared to enter the vast realm of meta- 
physical speculation and here the works of Rene 
Descartes, preeminently engaged his attention. Des- 
cartes, whose motto, De omnibus dubitandum est, 
sufficiently indicates the revolutionary character of 
his teachings, was the leader of the new school of 
thought on the continent. His influence proved 
decisive in shaping the career of Spinoza. Bruno 
also deserves mention among those who determined 
the bias of Spinoza’s mind. I mean that Bruno who 
was among the first followers of Copernicus, who 


CREED AND DEED. 


136 

proclaimed the doctrine of the infinity of worlds 
and who himself inculcated a species of pantheism 
for which he paid the last penalty at Rome in the 
year 1600, thirty-two years before Spinoza was born. 

By all these influences the mind of the young 
philosopher was widened beyond the sphere of his 
early education. In the pursuit of truth he sought 
the society of congenial minds, and found among the 
cultivated Christians of his day that intellectual 
sympathy of which he stood in need. From the 
high plane of thought which he had now reached, the 
rites and practices of external religion dwindled in 
importance, and the questions of creed for which the 
mass of men contend appeared little and insignif- 
icant. His absence from the worship of the syn- 
agogue now began to be remarked ; it was rumored 
that he neglected the prescribed fasts and he was 
openly charged with partaking of forbidden food. 
At first he was treated with great leniency. So 
high was his credit with the Rabbis, so impressed 
were they with his singular abilities, that they strove 
by every gentle means to win him back to his alle- 
giance. They admonished him, held out prospects 
of honor and emolument ; it is even stated that at 
last in despair of reclaiming him they offered an 
annual pension of a thousand florins to purchase his 
silence. Spinoza himself was keenly alive to the 
gravity of his position. It had been fondly hoped 


SPINOZA. 


137 


that he would shed new lustre upon the religion of 
Israel. He would be accused of vile ingratitude for 
deserting his people. He foresaw the inevitable 
rupture that would cut him off forever from friends 
and kinsmen, from the opportunities of wealth and 
honorable position, and deliver him over to priva- 
tion and poverty. He himself tells us in the intro- 
duction of a work which had long been forgotten 
and has been only recently rescued from oblivion, 
that he saw riches and honor and all those goods 
for which men strive, placed before him on the one 
hand, and a sincere life serenely true to itself on 
the other; but that the former seemed veritable 
shams and evils compared with that one great good. 
Nay, he said, though he might never reach the 
absolute truth, he felt as one sick unto death, who 
knows but one balm that can help him and who 
must needs search for that balm whereby perchance 
he may be healed. 

Great was the commotion stirred up against him 
in the Jewish community of Amsterdam. One 
evening a fanatic assaulted him on the street and 
attempted his life. The stroke of the assassin’s 
dagger was successfully parried. But Spinoza felt 
that the city was now no longer safe for him to 
dwell in. He fled and for some time frequently 
changed his place of residence, until at last he 
settled at the Hague where he remained until his 


138 


CREED AND DEED. 


death. In the mean time the lenient spirit of the 
Jewish leaders had changed into stern, uncompro- 
mising rigor. Observe now how persecution breeds 
persecution. It had been the pride of Judaism 
from of old that within its pale the practice of 
religion was deemed more essential than the theory ; 
that it permitted the widest divergence in matters 
of belief, and granted ample tolerance to all. But 
these Jews of Amsterdam, fresh from the dungeons 
and the torture chambers of the Inquisition, had 
themselves imbibed the dark spirit of their oppress- 
ors. Uriel d’Acosta they had driven to the verge 
of insanity and to a tragic death by their cruel big- 
otry. And now the same methods were employed 
against a wiser and greater and purer man, far than he. 

On the 27th of July, 1656, in the synagogue of 
Amsterdam, the sacred ark, containing the scrolls of 
the law, being kept open during the ceremony, the 
edict of excommunication was solemnly promul- 
gated. It reads somewhat as follows: 

“ By the decree of the angels and the verdict of 
the saints we separate, curse and imprecate Baruch 
de Spinoza with the consent of the blessed God 
and of this holy congregation, before the holy books 
of the Law with the commandments that are in- 
scribed therein, with the ban with which Joshua 
banned Jericho, with the curse with which Elias 
cursed the youths, and with all the imprecations 


SPINOZA. 


139 


that are written in the Law. Cursed be he by day 
and cursed by night ; cursed when he lies down, 
and cursed when he rises ; cursed in his going forth, 
and cursed in his coming in. May the Lord God 
refuse to pardon him ; may his wrath and anger be 
kindled against this man, and on him rest all the 
curses that are written in this book of the Law. 
May the Lord wipe out his name from under the 
heavens, and separate him for evil from all the 
tribes of Israel, with all the curses of the firmament 
that are written in the book of the Law. And ye 
that hold fast to the Lord God are all living this 
day ! we warn you that none shall communicate 
with him either by word of mouth or letter, nor 
show him any favor, nor rest under the same roof 
with him, nor approach his person within four yards, 
nor read any writing that he has written.” 

When Spinoza heard of this anathema he calmly 
replied : “ They compel me to do nothing which I 
was not previously resolved upon.” He retired 
from the commerce of the world. He coveted 
solitude. Within his silent chamber he moved in a 
world of his own. There in twenty years of patient 
passionless toil he built up the mighty edifice of his 
system. It rises before us as if hewn of granite 
rock. Its simplicity, its grandeur, its structural 
power have been the wonder of men. I can offer 
only the barest outline of its design. 


140 


CREED AND DEED. 


Man’s questioning spirit seeks to penetrate to 
the heart of Nature, would grasp the origin of 
things. There is this mighty riddle : who will solve 
it? Various attempts have been made. Pantheism 
is one. Spinoza was the great philosopher of Pan- 
theism. 

Beneath all diversity there is unity. In all of 
Nature’s myriad forms and changes, there is a sub- 
stance unchangeable. It is uncreated, undivided, 
uncaused, the Absolute, Infinite, God. Thought 
and extension are its attributes ; it is the One in 
All, the All in One. God is not matter, is not 
mind ; is that deeper unity in which matter and 
mind are one; God or Nature, Spinoza says. This 
is not the God of theology. God is in the tree, in 
the stone, in the stars, in man. God does not live, 
nor labor for any purpose, but produces from the 
necessity of his Being in endless variety, in ceaseless 
activity. He is the inner cause of all things, the 
ultimate Reality, and all things are as in their nature 
they partake of him. 

Man also is of God. The essence of man is in 
the mind. Man is a logical being. God alone owns 
truth ; in so far as man thinks truly and clearly, he 
is a part of the infinite God. Logic is the basis of 
ethics. Spinoza ignores sentiment, ignores art. 
Good and evil are but other names for useful and 
not useful. But that alone is useful that we follow 


SPINOZA. 


!4I 


the necessary and universal laws, seeking by the 
depth and reach of intellect to know and understand. 

Virtue is the pursuit of knowledge. There are 
three kinds of knowledge : the blurred perceptions 
of the senses, the light of the understanding, the 
intuition of intellect. The last is the highest. 

Virtue is the sense of being; whatever heightens 
the joyous consciousness of our active faculties is 
therefore good. The wise man delights in the 
moderate enjoyment of pleasant food and drink, in 
the color and loveliness of green shrubs, in the 
adornment of garments, in music’s sweetness. But 
our true being is to be found only in intellect ; 
hence, virtue the joy of being, is the joy of thought ; 
hence, the bold assertion — that is moral which 
helps, and that immoral which hinders thought. 

Man is a social being. As a drop is raised 
upward in the great ocean by the onflowing of the 
wave, so the individual mind is exalted by the 
presence and communion of congenial minds mov- 
ing in the same current. 

’Tis thus that Spinoza deduces the social virtues. 
Hate is evil at all times, for hate implies the iso- 
lation and the weakness of the powers of reason. 
We should reward hatred with love and restore 
the broken accord of intellect. Love is the sense 
of kinship in the common search for reason’s goal 
— wisdom. That all men should so live and act 


142 


CREED AND DEED. 


together that they may form, as it were, one body 
and one mind, is the ideal of life. Friendship there- 
fore he prizes as the dearest of earth’s possessions, 
and wedlock he esteems holy because in it is ce- 
mented the union of two souls for the common search 
of truth. We should be serene at all times and 
shun fear, which is weakness, and hope also which 
is the child of desire, and haughtiness and humble- 
ness and remorse and pity should we avoid. But 
in stillness and with collected power shall we possess 
our souls obedient to the laws of mind that make 
our being and helping when we help for reason’s 
sake. The passions bind us to passing phenomena. 
When they become transparent to our reason, when 
we know their causes then our nature conquers out- 
ward nature and we are masters, we are free. 

Thus the emotional life is extinguished. The 
feelings lose their color and vitality, become blank 
“ as lines and surfaces,” and man, freed from the 
constraints of passion, dwells in the pure realm of 
intellect, and in constant intercourse with the mind 
of God, fulfills the purpose of his existence — to 
know and understand. 

Against the blows of misfortune also reason 
steels us. Sorrow is but the lurking suspicion that 
all might have been otherwise. When we come to 
know that all things are by necessity, we shall find 
tranquillity in yielding to the inevitable. For so 


SPINOZA. 


143 


God works by necessity. For all things are in his 
hands as clay in the hand of the potter, which the 
potter taketh and fashioneth therefrom vessels of 
diverse value, some to honor and some to disgrace. 
And none shall rebuke him, for all is by necessity. 

When the body passes away the mind does not 
wholly perish, but something remains that is infinite, 
an eternal modus dwelling in the depths of the eter- 
nabmind. But though we knew not that something 
of the mind remained, yet were goodness and strength 
of soul to be sought for above all else. For who, 
foreseeing that he cannot always feed on healthy 
nourishment, would therefore sate himself with 
deadly poison ? or who, though he knew that the 
mind is not immortal, would therefore lead an 
empty life, devoid of reason’s good and guidance ? 
The wisdom of the wise and the freedom of the free 
is not in the aspect of death but of life. Religion 
and piety lead us to follow the laws of necessity in 
the world where they are manifest, to dwell on the 
intellect of God, of God their fount and origin. 

But I forbear to enter farther into this wonderful 
system. We see a giant wrestling with nature, 
seeking to wrest from her her secret. Mysterious 
nature baffles him and the riddle is still unread. 
That substance of which he speaks is no more than 
an abstraction of the mind whose reality in the 
outward world he has failed to prove. He has also 


144 


CREED AND DEED. 


erred in turning aside from the rich and manifold 
life of the emotions, for the emotions are not in 
themselves evil, they are the seminal principle of 
all virtue. 

On pillars of intellect, Spinoza reared his system. 
Still, solemn, sublime like high mountains it towers 
upward, but is devoid of color and warmth, and even 
the momentary glow that now and then starts up in 
his writings, passes quickly away like the flush of 
evening that reddens the snowy summits of Alpine 
ranges. 

Spinoza’s name marks a lofty peak in human 
history. He was a true man ; no man more fully 
lived his teachings. If he describes the pursuit 
of knowledge as the highest virtue, he was him- 
self a noble example of tireless devotion in that 
pursuit. He was well versed in the natural sciences, 
skillful in the use of the microscope, and his contri- 
butions to the study of the inner life of man have 
earned him lasting recognition. Johannes Mueller, 
the distinguished physiologist, has included the 
third division of Spinoza’s Ethics in his well known 
work on physiology. 

Religion, however, was Spinoza’s favorite theme, 
that religion which is free from all passionate 
longings and averse to superstition of whatever kind. 
He was among the first to hurl his mighty arguments 
against the infallible authority of the Bible, argu- 


SPINOZA. 


145 


ments that still command attention though two 
hundred years have since passed by. Miracles, he 
said, are past belief, the beauty of Cosmos is far 
more deserving of admiration than any so called 
miracle could possibly be. He demanded — this was 
a great and novel claim — that the methods of 
natural science be applied to the study of scripture, 
that the character of the age and local surround- 
ings be considered in determining the meaning of 
each scriptural author. In brief that a natural 
history of the bible, so to speak, should be attempt- 
ed. He claimed that the priesthood had falsified 
the very book which they professed to regard 
most holy. He denied the Mosaic authorship of the 
Pentateuch, and set forth in singularly clear and 
lucid language the discrepancies in which that work 
abounds. He closed the treatise in which these 
views are laid down — the Theologico-political Tract 
— with a magnificent plea for liberty of conscience 
and of speech. That state alone, he says, can be 
free and happy which rests on the freedom of the 
individual citizen. Where the right of free ut- 
terance is curtailed, hypocrisy and shameful con- 
formance flourish, and public contumely and dis- 
grace which ought to serve as a mete punishment 
for the vicious, become a halo about the head of the 
most noble of men. Religion and piety, he con- 
cludes, the state has a right to demand, but nothing 


7 


146 


CREED AND DEED. 


hereafter shall be known as religion and piety save 
the practice of equity and of a wise and helpful love. 

It was a bold awakening note which thus rang 
out into the seventeenth century, and theologians 
were bitter in their replies. The book was confis- 
cated and Christian curses were added to Jewish 
anathemas. But they failed to affect Spinoza. 

Few men have suffered as he did. Few have 
preserved the same equanimity of soul in the face of 
adverse fortune. Twenty years he dwelt alone. For 
days he did not leave his student’s closet, drawing 
his mighty circles, intent on those high thoughts that 
formed the companionship he loved. Those that 
knew him well revered him. De Witt the noble 
statesman, De Witt who ended his days so miser- 
ably, torn to pieces by a maddened mob, sought his 
counsel. Young ardent disciples from a distance* 
sent him words of cheer into his solitude. His soul 
was pure as sunlight, his character crystal clear. He 
was frugal in the extreme : a few pence a day suf- 
ficed to sustain him. Not that he affected austere 
views in general, but the deep meditations that oc- 
cupied his mind left him little time or inclination for 
the grosser pleasures. His sense of honor was 
scrupulously nice. Again and again did he reject 
the munificent pensions which his friends pressed 
upon him ; he would be free and self-sustained in all 
things. In his leisure hours he busied himself with 


SPINOZA. 


147 


the grinding and polishing of optical lenses, an exercise 
that offered him at once the means of support and 
a welcome relaxation from the severe strain of men- 
tal effort. His temper was rarely ruffled ; he was 
placid, genial, childlike. When wearied with his 
labors he would descend to the family of his land- 
lord, the painter Van der Speke, and entering into 
the affairs of these simple people, he found, in their 
unaffected converse, the relief he sought. 

He valued the peace of mind which he had pur- 
chased so dearly. When the Elector of the Palatin- 
ate offered him the chair of philosophy at the Uni- 
versity of Heidelberg on condition that he would so 
expound his philosophy as not to interfere with the 
established religion, he declined, replying that he 
could teach the truth only as he saw it, and that evil 
and designing men would doubtless add point and 
poison tc his words. Yet he was fearless. When 
toward the close of his career, his life was again 
imperiled, the grave tranquillity of his demeanor 
inspired his agitated friends with calmness and con- 
fidence. 

He had gained his forty-fourth year. For half a 
life time he had been fighting a treacherous disease, 
that preyed in secret upon his health. His life was 
slowly ebbing away amidst constant suffering, yet 
no complaint crossed his lips and his nearest com- 
panions were hardly aware of what he endured. In 


14B 


CREED AND DEED. 


the early part of the year 1677 one day in February, 
while the family of the painter were at church the 
end approached. Only a single friend was with him. 
Calmly as he had lived, in the stillness of the Sunday 
afternoon, Spinoza passed away. 

He has left a name in history that will not fade. 
His people cast him out, Christianity rejected him, 
but he has found a wider fellowship, he belongs to all 
mankind. Great hearts have throbbed responsive to 
his teachings and many a sorrowful soul has owned 
the restful influence of his words. He was a helper 
of mankind. Not surely because he solved the ulti- 
mate problems of existence — what mortal ever will — 
but because he was wise in the secret of the heart, 
because he taught men to appease their fretful pas- 
sions in the aspect of the infinite laws in which we 
live and are. 

Sacred is the hour in which we read his Ethics. 
From the heat and glare of life we enter into its 
precincts as into the cool interior of some hallowed 
temple of religion. But no idol stands there ; the 
spirit of truth alone presides and sanctifies the place 
and us. The great men of the past we will rever- 
ence. They are mile-stones on the highway of hu- 
manity, types of the Infinite, that has dawned in 
human breasts. Such an one was he of whom I 
have spoken. And more and more as the light in- 
creases among men will all that was good and great 


SPINOZA. 


149 


in him shine forth to irradiate their path. And as 
we stand here to-day on this day of remembrance to 
recall his teachings and his example, so when other 
centuries shall have elapsed, the memory of Spinoza 
will still live, posterity will still own him, and dis- 
tant generations will name him anew : Benedictus — 
Blessed ! 


IX. 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY* 

“ I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil, for 
verily I say unto you till heaven and earth pass away 
one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law 
till all be fulfilled.” “ Resist not evil, * * * bless 
them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.” 

In these sayings of Jesus the key note of early 
Christianity is struck. It was not a revolt against 
Judaism, it was but a reiterated assertion of what 
other and older Prophets of the Hebrews had so 
often and so fervently preached. The law was to 
remain intact, but the spiritual law was meant, the 
deeper law of conscience that underlies the forms 
of legislation and the symbols of external worship. 

There is a rare and gracious quality in the per- 
sonality of Jesus as described in the Gospels, which 
has exercised its charm upon the most hetero- 
geneous nations and periods of history wide apart in 
the order of time and of culture. 

To grasp the subtle essence of that charm, and 
thereby to understand what it was that has given 

* A discourse delivered on Sunday, December 31, 1876. 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 5 1 

Christianity so powerful a hold upon the affections 
of mankind, were a task well worthy the attention 
of thoughtful minds. We desire to approach our 
subject in the spirit of reverence that befits a theme 
with which the tenderest fibres of faith are so inti- 
mately interwoven ; at the same time we shall pay 
no regard to the dogmatic character with which his 
later followers have invested Jesus, for we behold 
his true grandeur in the pure and noble humanity 
which he illustrated in his life and teachings. 

The New Testament presents but scant material 
for the biography of Jesus, and the authenticity, 
even of the little that remains to us, has been ren- 
dered extremely uncertain by the labors of modern 
critics. A few leading narratives, however, are 
doubtless trustworthy, and these will suffice for our 
purpose. A brief introduction on the character of 
the people among whom the new prophet arose, the 
characteristics of the age in which he lived, and the 
beliefs that obtained in his immediate surroundings, 
will assist us in our task. 

The expectation of the Messiah had long been 
rife among the Jews. Holding themselves to be the 
elect people of God, they believed the triumph of 
monotheism to be dependent upon themselves. The 
prophets of Jehovah had repeatedly assured them 
that their supremacy would finally be acknowledged. 
Events however had turned out differently. Instead 


152 


CREED AND DEED. 


of success they met with constant defeat and disas- 
ter ; Persia, Egypt, Syria had successively held their 
land in subjection ; the very existence of their reli- 
gion was threatened, and the heathen world, far from 
showing signs of approaching conversion, insisted 
upon its errors with increased obstinacy and assur- 
ance. And yet Jehovah had distinctly promised 
that he would raise up in his own good time, a new 
ruler from the ancient line of Israel’s Kings* a son 
of David, who should lead the people to Victory. 
To his sceptre all the nations would bow, and in his 
reign the faith of the Hebrews would be acknowl- 
edged as the universal religion. Every natural 
means for the fulfilment of these predictions seemed 
now cut off, nothing remained but to take refuge in 
the supernatural ; it was said that the old order of 
things must entirely pass away ; a new heaven and 
a new earth be created and what was called the 
Kingdom of Heaven might then be expected. The 
“ Kingdom of Heaven,” a phrase that frequently 
recurs in the literature of the Jews, is used, not to 
describe a locality, but to denote a state of affairs 
on earth, in which the will of heaven would be gen- 
erally obeyed without the further intervention of 
human laws and government. The agency of the 
Messiah was looked to, for the consummation of 
these happy hopes. To reward those who had per- 
ished before his coming, many moreover of those 


; 

THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 53 

that slept in the dust would awaken, and the general 
resurrection of the dead would signalize the ap- 
proach of the millennium. 

At the end of the first century B. C. these expec- 
tations had created a wild ferment among the popu- 
lation of Palestine. Now if ever, it was fondly urged, 
they must be fulfilled. The need was at its highest, 
help then must be nighest. For matters had indeed 
grown from bad to worse, the political situation was 
intolerable, after the brief spell of independence in 
the days of the Maccabees, the Roman yoke had 
been fastened upon the necks of the people, and 
the weight of oppression became tenfold more diffi- 
cult to support from the sweet taste of liberty 
that had preceded it. The rapacity of the Roman 
Governors knew no bounds. A land impoverished 
by incessant wars and the frequent failure of the 
crops, was drained of its last resources to satisfy the 
enormous exactions of a foreign despot, while to all 
this was added the humiliating consciousness that it 
was a nation of idolators which was thus permitted 
to grind the chosen people. 

Nor was the condition of religion at all more 
satisfactory. It is true the splendid rites of the 
public worship were still maintained at the Temple, 
and Herod was even then re-building the Sanctuary 
on a scale of unparalleled magnificence. Bright was 
the sheen and glitter of gold upon its portals, 


154 


CREED AND DEED. 


solemn the ceremonies enacted in its halls, and 
grand and impressive the voices of the Levitic 
choirs as they sang to the tuneful melody of cym- 
bals and of harps. But the lessons of history teach 
us that the times in which lavish sums are expended 
on externals, are not usually those in which religion 
posesses true vitality and power and depth. Here 
was a brand flickering near extinction ; here was a 
builder who built for destruction ; the Temple had 
ceased to satisfy the needs of the people. 

In the cities an attempt to supply the deficiency 
was made by the party of the Pharisees. They 
sought to broaden and to spiritualize the meaning 
of scripture — they laid down new forms of religious 
observance by means of which every educated man 
became, so to speak, his own priest. The religion 
of the Pharisees however assumed a not inconsider- 
able degree of intellectual ability on the part of its 
followers. So far as it went it answered very well 
for the intelligent middle classes. But out in the 
country districts it did not answer at all ; not for 
the herdsmen, not for the poor peasants, not for 
those who had not even the rudiments of learning 
and who could do nothing with a learned religion. 
And yet these very men before all others needed 
something to support them, something to cling to, 
even because they were so miserably poor and 
illiterate. They did not get what they wanted — 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 


155 


they felt very strongly that the burdens upon them 
were exceedingly grievous ; that while they suf- 
fered and starved, religion dwelt in palaces, and 
had no heart for their misfortunes. They felt that 
something was wrong and rotten in the then state 
of affairs, and that a new state must come, and a 
heaven-sent king, who would lend a voice to their 
needs, and lift them with strong arms from out 
their despair and degradation. Nowhere was this 
feeling more marked than in the district of Galilee. 
A beautiful land with green, grassy valleys, groves 
of sycamores, broad blue lakes, and villages nestling 
picturesquely on the mountain slopes, it nourished 
an ardent and impulsive population. Their impa- 
tience with the existing order of things had already 
found vent in furious revolt. Judah, their famous 
leader, had perished ; his two sons, James and 
Simon, had been nailed to the cross; the Messiah 
was daily and hourly expected ; various impostors 
successively arose and quickly disappeared ; when 
would the hour of deliverance come ; when would the 
true Messiah appear at last ? 

It was at such a time and among such a people, 
that there arose Jesus of Nazareth in Galilee. 
What was the startling truth he taught? What 
was the new revelation he preached to the sons of 
men ? An old truth, and an old sermon — Right- 
eousness ; no more, meaning nothing at all, a 


156 


CREED AND DEED. 


mere trite common-place, on the lips of the time- 
server and the plausible vendor of moral phrases. 
Meaning mighty changes for the better, when 
invoked with a profounder sense of its sanctity, and 
a new sacredness in life, and larger impulses for 
ever and for ever. Righteousness he taught, and 
the change that was to come by righteousness. 
Yes, so deep was his conviction, so profoundly had 
the current conceptions of the day affected him, 
that he believed the change to be near at hand, that 
he himself might be its author, himself Messiah. 

The novelty of Jesus’ work has been sought in 
various directions. It has been said, for instance, to 
consist in the overthrow of phariseeism ; and it is 
true that he rebukes the pharisees in the most se- 
vere terms ; these reproaches, however, were not di- 
rected against the party as a whole, but only against 
its more extravagant and unworthy members. The 
pharisees were certainly not a “ race of hypocrites, 
and a generation of vipers.” Let us remember 
that Jesus himself, in the main, adhered to their 
principles ; that his words often tally strictly with 
theirs ; that even the golden sayings which are col- 
lected in the sermon on the mount, may be found 
in the contemporaneous Hebrew writings, whose 
authors were pharisees. Thirty years before his 
time, Hillei arose among the pharisees, renowned 
for his marvellous erudition, beloved ^nd revered be- 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 57 

cause of the gentleness and kindliness of his bearing, 
the meekness with which he endured persecution, the 
loving patience with which he overcame malice and 
hate. When asked to express in brief terms the 
essence of the law, he to the pharisee replied, “ Do 
not unto others what thou wouldst not that others 
do unto thee ; this is the essence, all the rest is 
commentary, — go and learn.” Jesus fully admits 
the authority of the pharisees. “ The pharisees,” he 
says, “sit in Moses’ seat; all therefore whatsoever 
they bid you observe, that observe and do.” If we 
read the gospel of Matthew, we find that he does 
not attempt to abrogate the pharisaic com- 
mandments, but only insists upon the greater im- 
portance of the commandments of the heart. 
“ Woe,” he cries, “ for ye pay tithe of mint, of 
anise and cumin, but ye have omitted the weight- 
ier matters of the law, judgment, mercy and 
faith, these ought ye to have done, and not to leave 
the other undone ,” — and again, “If thou bring thy 
gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy 
brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy 
gift before the altar and go thy way ; first be recon- 
ciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy 
gift." The leper also whom he cured of his disease, 
he advises to bring the gift prescribed by the 
Jewish ritual. We cannot fully understand the 
conduct of Jesus in this respect, unless we bear in 


158 CREED AND DEED. 

mind that he believed the millenial time to be near 
at hand. At that time it was supposed the ancient 
ceremonial of Judaism would come to an end by its 
own limitation ; until that time arrived, it should be 
respected. He does not wage war against the 
religious tenets and practices of his age ; only when 
they interfere with the superior claims of moral 
rectitude does he bitterly denounce them, and 
ever insists that righteousness be recognized as 
the one thing above all others needful. 

Nor is the novelty of Jesus’ work to be found in 
the extension of the gospel to the heathen world. 
It seems, on the contrary, highly probable that he 
conceived his mission to lie within the sphere of his 
own people, and devoted his chief care and solicitude 
to their welfare. “ I am not sent but unto the lost 
sheep of the house of Israel,” he says ; and thus he 
charges his apostles, “ Go ye not into the way of the 
Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter 
ye not. Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of 
Israel, and as ye go, preach, saying the kingdom of 
heaven is at hand.” And yet his exclusive devotion 
to the interest of the Jews is not at variance with 
the world-embracing influence attributed to the Mes- 
sianic character. In common with all his people, he 
believed that upon the approach of the millennium, 
the nations of the earth would come of their own 
accord, to the holy mount of Israel, accept Israel’s 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 


159 


religion, and thenceforth live obedient to the Messi- 
anic King. The millennium was now believed to be 
actually in sight. “Verily I say unto you there be 
some standing here who shall not taste of death until 
they see the Son of man coming in his Kingdom.” 
From the Jewish standpoint, therefore, which was 
the one taken by Jesus and the earliest Christians, 
the mission to the heathen was unnecessary. 

“ And again it has been said that the evangel of 
Jesus was new, in that it substituted for the stern 
law of retribution the methods of charity and the 
law of love ; that while the elder prophets had 
taught the people to consider themselves servants 
of a task-master, he taught them freedom and 
brotherhood. But is this true? Will any one who 
has read the Hebrew Prophets with attention, ven- 
ture to assert that they instil a slavish fear into the 
hearts of men ; they whose every line speaks aspira- 
tion, whose every word breathes liberty? It is true 
their language is often stern when they dwell on 
duty. And it is right that it should be so, for so also 
is duty stern and in matters of conscience sentimental- 
ism is out of place, harmful. Simple obedience to 
the dictates of the moral law is required, impera- 
tively, unconditionally, not for pity’s sake, nor for 
love’s sake, but for the right’s sake, simply and 
solely because it is right. But the emotions that 
are never the sufficient sanctions of conduct may 


i6o 


CREED AND DEED. 


ennoble and glorify right conduct. And how ten- 
derly do the ancient prophets also attune their mo- 
nitions to the promptings of the richest and purest 
of human sympathies. “ Thy neighbor thou shalt 
love as thyself,” was written by them, and “ Have 
we not all one Father, has not one God created us 
all.” Thy poor brother too is thy brother, and in 
secret shalt thou give charity. In the dusk of the 
evening the poor are to come into the cornfields and 
gather there, and no man shall know who has given 
and who has received. The ancient prophets were 
idealists, preachers of the Spirit as opposed to the 
form that cramps and belittles. In Jesus we behold 
a renewal of their order, a living protest against 
the formalism that had in the interval become en- 
crusted about their teachings, only differing from 
his predecessors in this, that the hopes which they 
held out for a distant future, seemed to him nigh 
their fulfilment, and that he believed himself destined 
to fulfil them. 

If we can discover nothing that had not been 
previously stated in the substance of Jesus’ teach- 
ings, there is that in the method he pursued, which 
calls for genuine admiration and reverence, the 
method of rousing against the offender the better 
nature in himself: of seeming yielding to offence 
based on an implicit trust in the resilient energy of 
the good ; of conquering others, by the strength of 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. l6l 

meekness and the might of love. Hillel too was en- 
dowed with this strength of meekness, and Buddha 
had said, long before the days of Jesus : “ Hatred is 
not conquered by hatred at any time, hatred is con- 
quered by love ; this is an old rule.” But in the story 
of no other life has this method been applied with 
such singular sweetness, with such consistent har- 
mony from the beginning to the end. Whether we 
find him in the intimate circle of his disciples, whether 
he is instructing the multitude along the sunny 
shores of Lake Gennesareth, whether he stands 
before the tribunal of his judges, or in the last dire 
agonies of death — he is ever the patient man, the 
loving teacher, the man of sorrows, who looks be- 
yond men and their crimes to an ideal humanity, and 
confides in that ; who gives largely, and forgives even 
because he gives so much. 

But we shall not touch the true secret of his 
power until we recall his sympathy with the neg- 
lected classes of society ; that quality of his nature 
which caused the poor of Galilee to hail him as their 
deliverer, which produced so lasting an impression 
upon his contemporaries, and made the development 
of his doctrines into a great religion possible. His 
gospel was preeminently the gospel for the poor : 
he sat down with despised publicans, he did not 
shun the contamination of lepers, nay nor of the 
moral leprosy of sin — he visited the hovels of pau- 


CREED AND DEED. 


162 

pers and taught his disciples to prefer them to the 
mansions of the fortunate ; he applied himself with 
peculiar fervor to those dumb illiterate masses of 
Galilee, who knew not whither they might turn, to 
what they might cling. He gave them hope, he 
brought them help. And so it came about that in 
the early Christian communities which were still 
fresh from the presence of the master, the appeal to 
conscience he had made so powerfully, resulted 
in solid helpfulness; so it came about that in those 
pristine days, the Church was a real instrument of 
practical good, with few forms, and little parade, but 
with love feasts and the communion table spread 
with repasts for the needy. “ Come unto me all 
ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give 
you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of 
me, * * for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

It is from such particulars that there was drawn 
that fascinating image which has captivated the 
fancy and attracted the worship of mankind. The 
image of the pale man with the deep, earnest eyes, 
who roused men to new exertions for the good, who 
lifted up the down-trodden, who loved little children 
and taught the older children in riddles and parables 
that they might understand, and the brief career 
of whose life was hallowed all the more in memory, 
because of the mournful tragedy in which it closed. 
All the noblest qualities of humanity were put 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 163 


into this picture and made it lovely. It was the 
humanity, not the dogma of Jesus, by which 
Christianity triumphed. Like a refreshing shower 
in the perfumed spring, his glad tidings of a new 
enthusiasm for the good came upon the arid 
Roman world, sickening with the dry rot of self- 
indulgence, and thirsting for some principle to give 
a purpose to the empty weariness of existence. 
Like a message from a sphere of light it spread to 
the Germanic tribes, tempered the harshness of their 
manners, taught them a higher law than that of 
force, and conquered their grim strength with the 
mild pleadings of the Master of meekness in far-off 
Galilee. 

It is the moral element contained in it that alone 
gives value and dignity to any religion, and only then 
when its teachings serve to stimulate and purify our 
aspirations toward the good, does it deserve to 
retain its ascendancy over mankind. Claiming to 
be of celestial origin, the religions have drawn their 
secret spell from the human heart itself. There is 
a principle of reverence inborn in every child of 
man, — this he would utter. He sees the firmament 
above him, with its untold hosts ; he stands in the 
midst of mighty workings, he is filled with awe ; he 
stretches forth his arms to grasp the Infinite which 
his soul seeketh, he makes unto himself signs and 
symbols, saying, let these be tokens of what no words 


164 


CREED AND DEED. 


can convey. But a little time elapses, and these 
symbols themselves seem more than human, they 
point no more beyond themselves, and man becomes 
an idolator, not of stone and wood merely. Then 
it is needful that he remember the divine power 
with which his soul has been clothed from the 
beginning, that by the force of some moral impulse 
he may break through the fetters of the creeds, and 
cast aside the weight of doctrines that express his 
best ideals no more. And so we find in history 
that every great religious reformation has been 
indebted for its triumphs, not to the doctrines that 
swam upon the surface, but to the swelling currents 
of moral energy that stirred it from below ; not to 
the doctrine of the Logos in Jesus’ day, but to the 
tidings of release which he brought to the oppressed, 
not to “ justification by faith,” in Luther’s time, but 
to the mighty reaction to which his thunderous 
protest lent a voice, against the lewdness and the 
license of a corrupt and cankerous priesthood. 
The appeal to conscience has ever been the lever 
that raised mankind to a higher plane of religion. 

Conscience, righteousness, what is there new in 
these — their maxims are as old as the hills? Truly, 
and as barren often as the rocks. The novelty of 
righteousness is not in itself, but in its novel applica- 
tion to the particular unrighteousness of a particular 
age. It was thus that Jesus applied to the sins 


THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 65 

and mock sanctities of his day, the ancient truths 
known to the prophets and to others long before 
him. It is thus that every new reformer will seek to 
bring home to the men of his generation what it is 
that the ancient standard of right and justice now 
requires at their hands. That all men are brothers, 
who did not concede it ? But that the enslaved 
man too is our brother, what a convulsion did that 
not cause, what vast expenditure of blood and treas- 
ure until that was made plain. That we should 
relieve the necessities of the poor, who will deny 
it ? But that a social system which year by year 
witnesses the increase of the pauper class, and the 
increase of their miseries, stands condemned before 
the tribunal of Religion, of justice, how long will it 
take before that is understood and taken to heart? 
The facts of righteousness are few and simple, but 'to 
apply them how mighty, how difficult a task. The 
time is approaching when this stupendous work must 
be attempted anew, and we, a small phalanx in the 
army of progress, would aid, with what power in us 
resides. Let this inspire us that we have the loftiest 
cause of the age for our own, that we are helping to 
pave the way for a stronger and freer and happier 
race. For by so laboring, alone can we feel that our 
life has a meaning under the sky and the sacred 
stars. 

The year in which we have entered upon our 


CREED AND DEED. 


1 66 

journey is passing away. To-night when the mid- 
night bells send forth their clamorous voices, we 
shall greet the new year, and the work it brings. 
No peaceful task dare we expect, but something of 
good accomplished may it see. 

“ Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, 

The flying cloud, the frosty light, 

The year is dying in the night, 

Ring out wild bells and let him die. 

“ Ring out the old. ring in the new. 

Ring happy bells across the snow, 

The year is going, let him go, 

Ring out the false, ring in the true.” 


X. 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 

It is May, the gladdest season of the year. Life 
is in the breezes, life in the vernal glory of the fields, 
life in the earth and in the skies. Of old, men were 
wont to go forth at this time into the forest, to 
wreath the fountains with garlands, to cover their 
houses with green branches, with songs and dances 
to celebrate the triumph of the Spring. Happy 
festivals, happy omens. 

A year has now passed since we began our work, 
and for many months we have met in this hall week 
after week. We have reached the first resting place 
upon our journey, and it behooves us to look back 
once more upon the path we have travelled, and 
forward into the yet untried future that awaits us. 

What was it that induced us to enter upon so 
perilous and for many reasons so uncertain an enter- 
prise ? 

We felt a great need. Religion which ought to 
stand for the highest truth, had ceased to be true to 
us. We saw it at war with the highest intelligence 
of the day ; religion and conscience also seemed no 


CREED AND DEED. 


1 68 

longer inseparably connected, as they should be. 
We saw that millions are annually lavished upon 
the mere luxuries of religion, gorgeous temples, 
churches and on the elaborate apparatus of salva- 
tion ; we could not but reflect that if one tithe of 
the sums thus set apart were judiciously expended 
upon the wants of the many who are famishing, 
distress might often be relieved, sickness averted, 
and crime confined within more narrow boundaries. 
We saw around us many who had lapsed from their 
ancient faith but still preserved the outward show of 
conformance, encouraged in so equivocal a course, 
by the advice and example of noted leaders in the 
churches themselves. We saw that the great tides 
of being are everywhere sweeping mankind on to 
larger achievements than were known to the past ; 
only within the churches all is still and motionless ; 
only within the churches the obsolete forms of cen- 
turies ago are retained, or if concessions to the 
present are made, they are tardy, ungracious and 
insufficient. We beheld that the essentials of relig- 
ion are neglected, even while its accessories are 
observed with greater punctiliousness than ever. 

We were passing moreover through a period of 
momentous import in our country’s history. The 
nation had just entered upon the second century of 
its existence, and the great recollections of what the 
fathers had done and designed for the republic, were 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 1 69 

fresh in our minds. We recalled the memorable 
words of Washington in his first inaugural address: 
“ That the national policy would be laid in the pure 
and immutable principles of private morality.” Rut 
we were startled to observe how greatly recent 
events had falsified these hopes and felt it our duty, 
within our own limited sphere, to restore something 
of that noble simplicity, something of that high 
fidelity to righteousness which it is said adorned the 
earlier days, and on which alone the fortunes of the 
state can rest securely hereafter. 

Then also the question, how best to educate the 
children to a worthy life, confronted us. The doc- 
trines of religion as commonly interpreted, we could 
no longer impart to them ; did we attempt to do so, 
they would be likely to discard them in later years, 
and would in the mean time be seriously injured in 
their moral estate by the struggle and its probable 
issue. On the other hand we were aware that the 
temptations which surround the young in this com- 
plex and highly wrought civilization of ours, are pecu- 
liarly dangerous and alluring, and by all the holiest 
instincts of humanity, we conceived ourselves bound 
to provide more effectively for their moral welfare. 
A few of us therefore took counsel how these objects 
might be attained, and we determined to take a step 
in a new direction. We did not conceal from our- 
selves the difficulties that would attend what we were 


8 


170 


CREED AND DEED. 


about to undertake. We might expect honest op- 
position. There would be no need to shrink from 
that. We might expect misconstruction, uninten- 
tioned or with malice aforethought ; we might ex- 
pect also cold comfort from those illiberal liberals, 
who are eager enough to assert the principles of free- 
dom for themselves, but relax alike their principles 
and their tempers when the limits are transcended 
which they have themselves reached, and which, 
on this account, they arbitrarily set up as the 
barriers of future progress. There were other ob- 
stacles inherent in the nature of the work itself. But 
all these weighed lightly in the scales, when opposed 
to the stern conviction, that there are certain hide- 
ous shams allowed to flourish in our public life ; 
that there are certain great truths which ought to be 
brought home with new energy to the conscience of 
the people. 

Upon what platform could we unite. To formu- 
late a new creed was out of the question. However 
comprehensive in its statements it might be, nay 
though it had been the creed of absolute negation, 
from which indeed we are far removed, it would 
never have combined our efforts in permanent union. 
And yet it was plain that to be strong and to exert 
influence, we must effect a firm, cordial, enthusiastic 
agreement upon some great principle. The weak- 
ness of the Liberal Party had hitherto been, as we 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 171 

knew, its dread of organization. It ensured thereby 
for its members a greater measure of freedom than 
is elsewhere known, but it purchased this advantage 
at an immense expense of practical influence and 
coherency. Its forces are scattered, and in every 
emergency, it finds itself paralyzed for want of unity 
in its own ranks. The Catholic Church has pursued 
the opposite policy, and presents the most notable 
instance of its successful prosecution. It is so for- 
midable, mainly because of its splendid scheme of 
organization, and the high executive ability of its 
leaders. But its power is maintained at a complete 
sacrifice of freedom. Could we not secure both ? 
Could we not be free and strong? This was the 
problem before us, and it seemed to us we could. 

What the exigencies of the modern age demand, 
more than aught else, is a new movement for the 
moral elevation of the race. Now the basic facts of 
man’s moral nature, though insufficiently illustrated 
in practice, are universally admitted among civilized 
human beings. Concerning them there is and can be 
no dispute. Here then appeared the solid principle 
of our union. The moral ideal would point the way 
of safety, the moral ideal would permit us to preserve 
the sacred right of individual differences intact, and 
yet to combine with our fellow-men for the loftiest 
and purest ends. Taking the term creed therefore 
in its widest application, we started out with the 


172 


CREED AND DEED. 


watchword, Diversity in the Creed, Unanimity in the 
Deed. This feature, if any at all, lends character to 
our movement, and by it would we be judged. We 
claim to be thereby distinguished, as well from those 
religious corporations that base their organization 
upon definite theological dogmas, as also from the 
great majority of Liberals who meet for purposes of 
contemplation and poetical aspiration, in that we put 
the moral element prominently forward and behold 
in it the bond of our union, the pledge of our vi- 
tality. 

But at the very threshold of our enterprise, we 
were met by the objection that our main premise is 
false; that morality is impossible without dogma, 
and that in neglecting the one we were virtually 
neutralizing our efforts toward the other. It became 
our first and most serious task therefore to show the 
futility of this objection, and to make clear by an 
appeal to philosophy and history that the claims of 
dogma are conditional, while the dictates of morality 
are imperative. Then, having established the priority 
and supremacy of the moral law, to examine what 
manner of substitute the ethical ideal can offer us 
to replace the offices of the doctrinal religions ; 
what are the hopes it holds out, what its conso- 
lations, what it can give us for the priesthood and 
the church. With this task we have been occupied 
during the year that has gone by, and now, at the 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 1 73 


close, we propose to review once more, the chief 
steps which we have taken in the course of our 
enquiry. 

We discussed in the first place the doctrine of 
immortality, and some of the main arguments upon 
which it is commonly founded. 

We next proceeded to take up the study of the 
Hebrew Bible; for it is evident that so long as this 
book is clothed with infallible authority, arguments 
based on fact and logic avail nothing, and reason is 
helpless before any random scriptural quotation. 
We examined the composition of the work : we 
learned that many of those portions that are 
esteemed most ancient, are of comparatively recent 
origin ; that the text is studded with discrepancies, 
and that the marks of savage and cruel customs 
such as the offering of human sacrifices to the Deity, 
are still clearly indented on the sacred volume. 
The conclusion followed that a book so full of con- 
tradiction, so deeply tinged with the evidence of 
human fallibility, could not have been the work of a 
divine author. The inspiration theory being thus 
divested of its support, we considered how baneful 
had been its influence on the course of human 
history ; how it had retarded the progress of the 
Jews among whom it arose ; how it had checked 
the intellectual development of Europe, how it had 
hampered the advancement of science ; how it had 


174 


CREED AND DEED. 


offered a specious plea for the despotism of kings, 
and of the holy Inquisition ; how in our own days 
it had become in the hands of the Southern slave- 
holders a most formidable means of perpetuating 
their infamous scheme of oppression. We con- 
cluded that whatever is false and worthless in the 
book we should feel at liberty to reject, while what 
is great and holy would not therefore become less 
great or less holy to us, because it was proven to be 
man’s work, man’s testimony to the divine possi- 
bilities inherent in the human soul. 

We went on striving to penetrate more deeply 
the origin of that mysterious power which we call 
religion. To us it appeared that the feeling of the 
sublime is the root of the religious sentiment in man. 
That the Vedahs, Avesta, Koran, Bible are the 
songs of the nations on the theme of the infinite; 
and that the moral ideal, whether we endow it with 
personality or not, presents to us the highest type 
of sublimity and is the sole object worthy of religious 
reverence. 

" Who dare express him 
And who profess him 
Saying, ‘ I believe in him? ' 

Who feeling, seeing, deny his being 
Saying I believe him not ? • 

44 Call it then what thou wilt 
Call it bliss, heart, love, God ; 

I have no name to give it. 

Feeling is all in all, 

The name is sound and smoke.” 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 1 75 

We maintained lastly, that the entrance of the 
moral into the sphere of religion has endowed 
the latter with whatever excellence it now pos- 
sesses. 

We showed in another course of lectures, that 
every great religious movement has been in the 
essence, a protest against the formalism and mock 
holiness of its time, and derived its vital impulses 
from the moral elements with which it was suffused. 
We instanced the case of monotheism, which, as we 
believe, arose in the struggle of the prophets against 
the immoral rites of Baal : We mentioned Buddha, 
the reformer of the Hindoos, whose sermon of un- 
selfishness won for him the affections of the people. 
We referred on frequent occasions to the fact that 
Christianity likewise triumphed because of the hu- 
manity of Jesus: because he was the Master of 
meekness ; because his gospel was a gospel for the 
poor. The result of all which was to confirm the 
priority of morality, and to show that it is indeed 
the source of whatever is durable and valuable in 
the Creeds. 

Toward the end of February the two hundredth 
anniversary of the death of Benedict Spinoza, 
afforded us a welcome opportunity to dwell upon 
the life and philosophy of that illustrious thinker. 

Later on, we endeavored to comprehend the 
causes which have produced that remarkable change 


176 


CREED AND DEED. 


the religious opinions of modern men, that is daily 
becoming more widely apparent. We found them to 
be the critical investigation of the Bible, the pro- 
gress of the natural sciences, and indirectly, the in- 
fluence of commerce and of industry. We attempted 
to set forth how the introduction of machinery be- 
came the means of fostering the growth of scepticism 
even among those classes to whom the arguments 
of scholars and men of science do not appeal. We 
spoke of the enlightenment of the masses, and con- 
sidered the theory of those who hold that a religion, 
even when it is found to be false, should still be 
maintained as a salutary curb upon the passions of 
the multitude. We insisted that this view of reli- 
gion is as unsound as it is degrading ; that while all 
men may not be capable of the highest order of 
intellectual action, all men are capable of heart good- 
ness, and goodness is the better part of religion ; that 
a generous confidence is the highest principle of 
education, and that to trust men is the surest means 
of leading them to respond to our confidence; that 
we should cease therefore to preach the depravity of 
human nature and preach rather the grandeur which 
is possible to human nature ; that in freedom alone 
can we become worthy of being free. 

And again in a distinct group of lectures we 
sought to unfold our conception of the New Ideal, 
and to point out that which distinguishes it from 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 1 77 

what has gone before. We spoke of its appeal to 
the higher nature, of its teachings concerning the 
Infinite within ourselves. We spoke of the priests 
that shall do its service ; of the solace it affords us by 
its summons to larger duties; of the ethical schools 
that shall be erected for its culture ; of the manner 
in which women may be prepared to aid in its pro- 
paganda ; lastly of the form which it may assume in 
the future, in our discourse on the Order of the Ideal. 

Thus far have we proceeded. We issued our 
appeal, at first, as men uncertain what the fortunes 
of their enterprise might be. But while we avowed 
it to be an experiment, we were deeply convinced 
that it was an experiment which deserved to be 
tried. And more and more as week followed week, 
the response from your side came back full and cor- 
dial ; and more and more as the scope and the ulti- 
mate tendencies of our work were developed, new 
friends came to us whom w r e had not known, and it 
became apparent that there is a deep, downright 
purpose in your midst which will form a bond of 
union for us that shall not easily be snapped asun- 
der. Until at last after a period had gone by, you 
thought it time to exchange your temporary organi- 
zation for one more stable, and you declared to all 
who might be interested in learning it, that it is your 
intention and your hope to become a permanent 
institution in this community. 

8 * 


178 


CREED AND DEED. 


We have made a beginning only. If we look 
ahead, dangers and difficulties still lie thickly on 
our path. The larger work is still before us. But 
we will confide in the goodness of our cause, and 
believe that if it be good indeed, in the end it must 
succeed. 

The country in which we live is most favorable 
for such experiments as ours. There are lands of 
older culture, and men there of wider vision and 
maturer wisdom, but nowhere, as in America, is a 
truth once seen, so readily applied, nowhere do even 
the common order of men so feel the responsibility 
for what transpires, and the impulse to see the best 
accomplished. Here no heavy hand of rulers 
crushes the incipient good. When the Pilgrims set 
out on their voyage across the unknown Atlantic, 
Robinson, their pastor, their leader, addressed them 
once more before they embarked, and in that 
solemn hour of parting, warned them against the 
self-sufficiency of a false conservatism, and dedicated 
them and the new states they might found, to the 
increase and the service of larger truths. To larger 
truths America is dedicated. 

O, if it were thine, America, America that hast 
given political liberty to the world, to give that 
spiritual liberty for which we pant, to break also 
those spiritual fetters that load thy sons and daugh- 
ters ! All over this land thousands are search- 


THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE. 1 79 

ing and struggling for the better, they know not what. 
Oh that we might aid them in the struggle, and 
they us ; and the hearts of many be knit together 
once more in a common purpose that would lift 
them above their sordid, weary cares, and ennoble 
their lives and make them glorious ! The crops are 
waiting ; may the reapers come ! 





APPENDIX. 












































































































































APPENDIX 


I. 

THE EVOLUTION OF HEBREW RELIGION. 

“ Dans l’opinion du peuple pour qui ces livres ont £te ecrits le point capital 
et essentiel n’est certes pas la narration historique, mais bien la legislation et 
l’edification religieuse.” 1 2 

In 1795, Frederick Augustus Wolf published a modest oc- 
tavo volume entitled “ Prolegomena to Homer,” from whose 
appearance is dated the beginning of a new era of historic criti- 
cism. The composition of the poems of Homer formed its 
subject. For wellnigh twenty years the author had collected 
evidence, weighed arguments, and patiently tested his results 
by constant revision. His own wishes were engaged on the 
side of the unity of the great Grecian epic. But the results 
of his researches continued to point in the opposite direction, 
and at last his earnest devotion to truth compelled him to adopt 
a theory the soundness of whose construction seemed to be no 
longer questionable. He was thus worthy to become the 
“ founder of the science of philology in its present significance.” 3 

The influence of Wolf’s discovery was not confined to the 
study of classic literature only. It quickly radiated through every 
department of history. “ In every singing age,” he said, “a 
single saeculum is almost like a single man. It is all one mind, 

1 “ In the estimation of the people for whom these books were 
•written, the capital, essential point surely was, not the historic narra- 
tive, but rather legislation and religious edification.” (NOldeke, 
‘ Histoire Liti£raire de l’Ancien Testament,” p. 19.) 

2 Bonitz, “ Ueber den Ursprungder Homerischeri Gedichte,” p. it. 


APPENDIX. 


184 

one soul .” 1 This conception involved a new social law, and 
radically altered the current opinions concerning the relation of 
individual effort to the larger forces that affect the development 
of nations. The creative energy of remarkable minds was not, 
indeed, lessened in importance, but spontaneity, in this connec- 
tion, acquired a new meaning ; and for the Deus ex machina of 
the olden time was substituted the cumulative force of centuries 
of progressive advancement, culminating, it is true, at last in the 
triumphant synthesis of genius. The commotion which the 
Wolfian theory has stirred up in the literary world is largely due 
to the wide range of ideas which it affected. Yet it was itself 
but a part of that general movement which, toward the close of 
the last century, became conspicuous in its effects on every field 
of human inquiry. Everywhere the shackles of authority were 
thrown off, and, in place of blindly accepting the testimony of 
the past, men turned to investigate for themselves. A new 
principle of research was everywhere acknowledged, a new 
method was created, and science, natural and historical, entered 
upon that astonishing career of discovery whose rich promise 
for the future we have but begun to anticipate . 2 

To the impetus given by Wolf, and to the new-born spirit of 
science which he carried into the sphere of philology, we owe 
among other valuable results the beginnings of a more critical 
inquiry into the records of the ancient Hebrew religion. Indeed, 
the author of the “ Prolegomena ” himself clearly foresaw 
the influence which his book was destined to exert on Hebrew 

1 In a letter given in Korte’s “ Leben und Studien F. A Wolfs/* 

i., p. 307. 

2 Scientific pursuits are distinguished from others, not by the 
material, but by the method of knowledge. The mere collection of 
data, however multiplied in detail, however abstruse the subjects to 
which they may refer, does not of itself deserve the name of science. 
The term properly applies only when phenomena are placed in causal 
relation, and the laws which govern their development are traced. 
Measured by this standard, every attempt to explain the growth of 
human thought and institutions, and to elucidate the laws which have 
acted in the process of their evolution, has a just claim to be classed 
under the head of scientific inquiry. 


APPENDIX. 


185 


studies. In a letter, from which we have already quoted above, 
he says : “ The demonstration that the Pentateuch is made up 
of unequal portions, that these are the products of different cen- 
turies, and that they were put together shortly after the time of 
Solomon, may, ere long, be confidently expected. I should my- 
self be willing to undertake such an argument without fear, for 
nowhere do we find any ancient witness to guarantee the author- 
ship of the Pentateuch to Moses himself.” 1 

The prediction embodied in these words soon came true. A 
host of competent scholars took up the study of the Hebrew 
Bible, and, profiting by Wolf’s example and suggestions, ap- 
plied to its elucidation the same careful methods, the same 
scrupulous honesty of interpretation, that had proved so suc- 
cessful in the realm of classical philology. Theologians by pro- 
fession, they set aside their predilections, and placed the ascer- 
tainment of the truth above all other interests. They believed 
in the indestructible vitality of religion, and were willing to ad- 
mit the full light of criticism upon the scriptural page, confident 
that any loss would be temporary only, the gain permanent. In 
the course of their researches they arrived, among others, at the 
following important conclusions : 

That the editor of the Pentateuch had admitted into his vol- 
ume several accounts touching the main facts of early Hebrew 
history ; that these accounts are often mutually at variance ; 
that minute analysis and careful comparison alone can lead to 
an approximately true estimate of their comparative value ; and, 
lastly, that the transmission of historical information had in no 
wise been the object of the Hebrew writers. The history of 
their people served, it is true, to illustrate certain of their doc- 
trines concerning the divine government of the world, and 
especially the peculiar relations of the Deity to the chosen race ; 
but it was employed much in the sense of a moral tale, being 
designed, not to convey facts, but to enforce lessons. Had the 
. acceptance of any particular scheme of Hebrew history been 
deemed essential to the integrity of religious belief, the Bible, 
they argued, would certainly not have included discrepant 
accounts of that history in its pages. In the light of this new 

1 Letter in Kfirte’s “ Leben und Studien F. A. Wolf’s,” i., p. 309. 


APPENDIX. 


1 86 

insight, it seemed advisable to draw a distinction between the 
biblical narrative proper and the doctrines which it was designed 
to illustrate. The latter belong to the province of faith, and 
their treatment may be left to the expounders of faith. The 
former is a department of general history, and in dealing with 
it we are at liberty to apply the same canons of criticism that 
obtain in every other department, without fearing to trespass 
upon sacred ground. It is our purpose in the following pages 
to present some of the more interesting results that have been 
reached in the study of the Pentateuch, so far as they illustrate 
the evolution of religious ideas among the Hebrews. We shall 
begin by summarizing a few instances of discrepant testimony 
to introduce our subject, and, in particular, to show how little 
the ordinary purposes of history have been considered in the 
composition of the biblical writings ; how little the bare trans- 
mission of facts was an object with the sacred authors . 1 

The Scriptures open with two divergent accounts of the crea- 
tion. In Genesis i., the work of creation proceeds in two grand 
movements, including the formation of inanimate and animate Na- 
ture respectively . 2 On the first day a diffused light is spread out 
over chaos. Then are made the firmament, the dry earth, the 
green herbs, and fruit-bearing trees ; on the fourth day the great 
luminaries are called into being; on' the fifth, .the fishes and 
birds of the air ; on the sixth, the beasts of the field ; and, lastly, 
crowning all, man, his Maker’s masterpiece. The human spe- 
cies enters at once upon its existence as a pair. “ Male and 
female did he create them.” In the second chapter the same 
methodical arrangement, the same deliberate progress from the 
lower to the higher forms of being, is not observed. Man, his 
interests and responsibilities, stand in the foreground of the 
picture. The trees of the field are not made until after Adam ; 
and, subsequently to them, the cattle and beasts. Moreover, 
man is a solitary being. A comparison between his lonely 
condition and the dual existence of the remainder of the animal 

1 Many of the following examples are familiarly known. A few, 
however, are drawn from recent investigations. Compare, especially, 
Kuenen, “ The Religion of Israel.” 

2 Tuch’s “ Genesis,” p. 3, second edition, Halle, 1871. 


APPENDIX. 


IS/ 

world leads the Deity to determine upon the creation of woman. 
A profound slumber then falls upon Adam, a rib is taken from 
his side, and from it Eve is fashioned. 1 2 * We may observe that the 
name Jehovah, as appertaining to the Deity, is employed in the 
second chapter, while it is scrupulously avoided in the first. 
The recognition of this distinction has led to further discoveries 
of far-reaching importance, but too complicated in their nature 
to be here detailed. The conflicting statements of the two ac- 
counts, which we have just indicated, have induced scholars to 
regard them as the work of different writers. In Genesis iv. we 
learn that in the days of Enoch, Adam’s grandson, men began 
to call on the name of Jehovah ; in Exodus vi., on the contrary, 
that the name Jehovah was first revealed to Moses, being un- 
known even to the patriarchs. 

Gen. xvi., Hagar is driven from her home by the jealousy of 
her mistress ; escapes into the desert ; beholds a vision of God 
at a well in a wilderness. Gen. xxi., the flight of Hagar is re- 
lated a second time. The general scheme of the narrative is 
the same as above ; but there are important divergencies of 
detail. As narrated in chapter xvi., the escape took place im- 
mediately before the birth of Ishmael. Fifteen years elapsed, 4 
and Ishmael, now approaching the years of maturity, is once 
more driven forth from the house of Abraham. But, to our 
surprise, in chapter xxi. the lad is described as a mere infant ; 
he is carried on his mother’s shoulders, and laid away, like a 
helpless babe, under some bushes by the wayside. It appears 
that we have before us two accounts touching the same event, 
agreeing in the main incidents of the escape, but showing a dis- 
agreement of fifteen years as to the date of its occurrence. The 
narratives are distinguished as above by the employment of dif- 

1 For an account of the close analogy between the biblical narra- 
tion and the Persian story of Meshja and Meshjane, their temptation 
and fall, vide ibid. p. 40. It is of special importance to note that 
reference to the account of Genesis ii. is made only in the later lit- 
erature of the Hebrews, ibid., p. 42. 

2 Gen. xvii. 25. In quoting from the Old Testament, we follow 

the order of the Hebrew text. 


1 88 


APPENDIX. 


ferent names of the Deity : Jehovah in the one instance, Elohim 
in the other. 

Gen. xxxii., Jacob at the fords of Jabbok, after wrestling dur- 
ing the night with a divine being, receives the name of Israel. 
Gen. xxxv., without reference to the previous account, the name 
Israel is conferred upon Jacob at a different place and under 
different circumstances. 

Gen. xlix., the dispersion of the Levites among the tribes is 
characterized as a punishment and a curse. They are to be for- 
ever homeless and fugitive. Deuteronomy xxxiii. and elsewhere, 
it is described as a blessing. The Levites have been scattered 
as good seed over the land. They are apostles, commissioned 
to propagate Jehovah’s law. 

Passing on to the second book of the Pentateuch, we pause 
before the account of the Revelation on Mount Sinai, beyond a 
doubt the most important event of Israel’s ancient history. 
Exodus xxiv. 2, Moses alone is to approach the divine presence. 
Exod. xix. 24, Aaron is to accompany him. Exod. xxiv. 13, 
Aaron is to remain below and Joshua is to go in his stead. 
Again, Exod. xxxiii. 20, instant death will overtake him who 
beholds God. Exod. xxiv. 9-1 1, Moses, Aaron, two of his sons, 
and seventy elders of Israel “ ascended, and they saw the God 
of Israel. . . . Also, they saw God, and did eat and drink.” 

Once more, Exod. xxiv. 4-7, Moses himself writes down the 
words of revelation in a book of covenant. Exod. xxiv. 12, not 
Moses but God writes them ; and, elsewhere, “ Two tables of 
stone inscribed by the finger of God.” 

Exod. xx. enjoins the observance of the sabbath-day as a 
memorial of the repose of the Maker of heaven and earth on the 
sabbath of creation. Deut. v., the fourth commandment is en- 
joined because of the redemption of Israel from Egyptian bond- 
age. Exod. xxxiv., a new version of the decalogue, differing in 
most respects from the one commonly received, is promulgated. 1 
The first commandment is to worship no strange god ; the sec- 
ond, to make no graven images ; the third, to observe the feast 

1 Compare De Wette’s “Einleitung in das alte Testament” 
(Schrader’s edition), p. 286, note 53. 


APPENDIX. 


189 

of unleavened bread ; the fourth, to deliver the first-born unto 
Jehovah ; the fifth, to observe the sabbath, etc. 

In Exod. xx. we read that the guilt of the fathers will be 
avenged upon the children down even to the third and fourth 
generation ; in Deut. xxiv., the children shall not die for their 
fathers. Every one for his own sin shall die. 

In Deut. xxv. the marrying of a deceased brother’s wife is 
under certain conditions enjoined as a duty. In Levit. xviii. it 
is unconditionally prohibited as a crime. 

Exod. xxxiii., Moses removes the tabernacle beyond the camp. 
Num. ii., the tabernacle rests in the very heart of the camp, with 
all the tribes of Israel grouped round about it, according to their 
standards and divisions. 

Num. xvi., the sons of Korah, the leader of the great Leviti- 
cal sedition, perish witli their father. Num. xxvi., the sons of 
Korah do not perish . 1 

Of the forty years which the Israelites are said to have dwelt 
in the desert, not more than two are covered by the events of the 
narrative. The remainder are wrapped in dense obscurity. 
There is, however, a significant fact which deserves mention in 
this connection. The death of Aaron marks, as it were, the 
close of Israel’s journey. Now, while in Num. xxxiii. the death 
of the high-priest is described as occurring in the fortieth year, 
in Deut. x. it is actually referred to the second year of the Exo- 
dus . 2 

A brief digression beyond the borders of the Pentateuch will 

1 Num. xxvi. 11. Indeed, had the sons of Korah and every hu- 
man being related to him perished, as Num. xvi. avers, how could we 
account for the fact that Korah’s descendants filled high offices in the 
Temple at Jerusalem later on ? The celebrated singer, Heman, him- 
self was a lineal descendant of Korah. To the descendants of Korah 
also are ascribed the following Psalms : Ps. xlii., xliv.-xlix., lxxxiv., 
Ixxxv., lxxxvii., lxxxviii. 

2 In connection with this subject it is of interest to compare Goe- 
the’s argument in the “ Westostlicher Divan ” on the duration of the 
desert journey. Here, as in so many other instances, the intuitive 
perception of the great poet anticipated the tardy results of subse- 
quent investigation. 


190 


APPENDIX. 


show that the conflict of testimony which we have thus far no- 
ticed, affecting’ as it does some of the leading events of ancient 
Hebrew history, does not diminish as we proceed in the narra- 
tive. In 1 Samuel vii. it is said that the Philistines ceased to 
harass the land of Israel all the days of Samuel. Immediately 
thereupon we read of new Philistine incursions more direful 
than ever in their consequences. 1 Tlje popular proverb, “ Is 
Saul among the prophets ? ” is variously explained, 1 Sam. x. and 
xix. Two discrepant accounts are given of Saul’s rejection from 
the kingdom, 1 Sam. xiii. and xv. ; of David’s introduction to 
Saul, 1 Sam. xvi. and xvii. The charming story of David’s en- 
counter with the giant Goliath told in 1 Sam. xvii. is contradicted 
in 2 Sam. xxi. 19, where, not David, but some person otherwise 
unknown to fame, is reported to have slain the giant Goliath, 
and also the time, place, and attendant circumstances, are dif- 
ferently related. 2 

It thus appears that the compiler of the Pentateuch has ad- 
mitted a variety of views, not only on the ancient history of his 
people, but also on the general subject of religion and morals, 
into his work ; and that the discordant opinions of diverse au- 
thors and of diverse stages of human progress are reflected in 
its pages. It is the monument of a grand religious movement 
extending over many centuries of gradual development. It is 
the image of a nation’s struggles and growth. As contained in the 
books of the Pentateuch, the Mosaic religion is a religious mosaic. 

In the foregoing sketch we have observed how deep a mist 
of uncertainty hangs over the earliest period, the golden age of 
the history of the Hebrews. All is in a state of flux, and what 
appeared compact and coherent at a distance yields to our' touch 
upon closer contact. To gain terra firma , let us turn to the 
period which immediately succeeded the settlement of the Isra- 
elites in Palestine ; a period in which the outline of historical 
events begins to assume a more definite and tangible shape. 

1 Compare 1 Sam. vii. 13, and 1 Sam. xiii. 19. 

2 In I Chron. xx. 5, we read, “ the brother of Goliath.” The pur- 
pose of the change is clear, and accords well with the apologetical 
tendencies of the author of Chronicles. Vide De Wette, “ Einlei- 
tung,” etc., p. 370. Geiger, “ Urschrift.” 


APPENDIX. 


I 9 I 

It was a dismal and sorrowful age. The bonds of social 
order were loosened ; the current conceptions of the Deity and 
the rites of his worship were gross and often degrading. Mu- 
tual jealousies kindled the firebrand of war among the contend- 
ing clans. Almost the whole tribe of Benjamin was extirpated. 
Abimelech slew seventy princes upon one stone. Lust and 
treachery ran riot. A wilder deed has never been chronicled in 
the annals of mankind than that related in chapter xix. of Judges, 
nor ever has a terrible deed been more terribly avenged. Now, 
looking backward, we ask, Is it to be believed that in the four- 
teenth century B. C. not only the leader of Israel, but also 
their elders, their priests, nay, large numbers of the very popu- 
lace, shared in the most exalted, the most spiritual conceptions 
of God, and nourished the most refined sentiments in regard 
to human relationships, while immediately thereupon, and cen- 
turies thereafter, violence and bloodshed, and idolatry, do not 
cease from the records ? It has been argued, indeed, that the 
worship of idols was but a relapse from the purity of a preced- 
ing age ; and that, though the tradition of the Mosaic time 
may have been lost in the succeeding period among the people 
at large, it was still preserved in the circle of a select few, the 
judges, King David, and others. These, it is believed, continued 
to remain faithful disciples of the great lawgiver. But these 
very men, the judges — King David himself — all fall immeasur- 
ably below the standard that is set up in the Pentateuch. If 
they were esteemed the true representatives of the national re- 
ligion in their day, if the very points in which they transgressed 
the provisions of the Mosaic code are distinguished by the ap- 
proval of God and man, we are forced to conclude that that 
standard — by which they stand condemned — did not yet exist ; 
that, in the days of David, the laws of Moses, as we now have 
them, were as yet unwritten and unknown. Let us illustrate 
this important point by a few examples taken from the records. 
Gideon no sooner returns from victory than he makes a golden 
idol and sets it up for worship. Jephthah slays his daughter as 
an offering of thanksgiving to Jehovah. In the Pentateuch the 
adoration of images is branded as the gravest of offences. 
David keeps household gods in his own home (Sam. xix). In 


192 


APPENDIX. 


the Pentateuch, on its opening- page, God is proclaimed as a 
pure spirit, maker of heaven and earth. In the eyes of David 
(1 Sam, xxvi. 19), the sway of Jehovah does not extend beyond 
the borders of Palestine. 1 In the Pentateuch the ark of the 
covenant is described as the treasury of all that is brightest and 
best in the worship of the one God. None but the consecrated 
priest dare approach it, and even he only under circumstances 
calculated to inspire peculiar veneration and awe. In 2 Sam. 
vi., David abandons the ark to the keeping of a heathen Phil- 
istine. In an early age of culture, when fear and terror in the 
presence of superior force entered largely into the religious 
conceptions of the Hebrews, the taking of the census was 
deemed an act of grave transgression. It appeared a vaunting 
of one’s strength ; it seemed to indicate a defiant attitude toward 
the loftier power of the Deity, which he would certainly visit 
with condign punishme'nt. At a later period the priesthood 
found it in their interest to override these scruples, and the tak- 
ing of the census became an affair of habitual occurrence. In 
the last chapter of Samuel the more primitive view still predom- 
inated. Seventy thousand Israelites are miserably slain to atone 
for King David’s presumption in commanding a census of the 
people. In the fourth book of Moses, on the other hand, the 
numbering of the people not only proceeds without the slightest 
evil resulting therefrom, but at the express command of God 
himself. 

In the book of Deuteronomy the service of Jehovah is said 
to consist mainly in the practice of righteousness, in works of 
kindness toward our fellows, in sincere and holy love toward the 
Deity, who is represented as the merciful father of all his human 
children. Second Sam. xxi., a famine comes upon the land of Is- 
rael. The anger of Jehovah is kindled against the people. To 
appease him, David offers sacrifice — human sacrifice. The seven 
sons of Saul are slain, and their bodies kept exposed on the hill, 
“ in sight of Jehovah,” and the horrid offering is accepted, and 
the divine wrath is thereby pacified. 2 Truly, in the age of 

1 Banishment being described as a transfer of allegiance to strange 
gods. 

5 It is important to note that the seven sons of Saul were sacrificed 


APPENDIX. 


193 


David, the Hebrews were far, far removed from the high state 
of culture in which the ideal conception of religion that pervades 
Deuteronomy became possible. And long after, when centuries 
had gone by and the kingdom of Judah was already approach- 
ing its dissolution, the direful practices of David’s reign still sur- 
vived, and the root of idolatry had not been plucked from the 
heart of the people. Still do we hear of human sacrifice per- 
petrated in the midst of Jerusalem, and steeds and chariots 
dedicated to the sun-god, and images of the Phallus, and all the 
abominations of sensual worship, filled the very Temple of 
Jehovah. 

But in the meantime a new force had entered the current 
of Hebrew history. The conviction that one God, and he an 
all-just, almighty being, ruled the destinies of Israel, began to 
take root. Jn the eighth century B. C. authentic records prove 
that monotheism, as a form of religious belief, obtained, at least 
among the more illustrious members of the prophetic order. 
We have elsewhere attempted to trace the causes which led to 
the rise of monotheism at this particular epoch, and can do no 
more than briefly allude to them here. 

When the mountaineers of Southern Palestine, after cen- 
turies of protracted struggles, had secured the safe possession 
of individual homes, the endearments of domestic life were in- 
vested with a sanctity in their eyes never before known. The 
attachment of the Hebrew toward his offspring was intensified ; 
his devotion to the wife of his bosom became purer and more 
enduring. Now, the prevailing forms of Semitic religion out- 
raged these feelings at every point. The gods of the surround- 
ing nations were gods of pleasure and of pain ; and in their 
worship the stern practices of fanatic asceticism alternated with 
the wildest orgies of sensual enjoyment. The worship of Baal 
Moloch demanded the sacrifice of children ; that of the lasciv- 

in the beginning of the barley-harvest. This circumstance seems to 
throw light on the primitive mode of celebrating the Passover. That 
the rite of human sacrifice was originally connected with this festival' 
is generally acknowledged. Vide , e. g., Exod. xiii., 2. By such 
offerings it was intended, no doubt, to secure the favor of the god. 
during the continuance of the harvest. 

9 


194 


APPENDIX. 


ious Baaltis insulted the modesty of woman. The nobler spirits 
among the Hebrews rebelled against both these demands. And, 
as the latter were put forth in the name of the dominant religion, 
the inevitable conclusion followed that that religion itself must be 
radically wrong. The spirit of opposition thus awakened was 
aroused into powerful activity when, in the days of Ahab, the 
queen, supported by an influential priesthood, determined to in- 
troduce the forms of Phoenician religion in Israel by measures of 
force. The royal edicts were resisted, but for a while the rule 
of the stronger prevailed. The leaders of the opposition were 
compelled to flee, and, avoiding the habitations of men, to take 
refuge in wild and solitary places. Thus the rupture was 
widened into schism, and persecution inflamed the zeal and 
kindled the energies of that new order of men of whom Elijah 
is the well-known type. 

Through their agency the emotional nature of the Semitic 
race now found expression in a form of religious worship loftier 
by far than any that had ever arisen among men. If Baal was 
the embodiment of Semitic asceticism and Baaltis the type of 
sensual orgiastic passion, the national God of Israel now became 
the type of a nobler emotion, the guardian of domestic purity, 
the source of sanctity, the ideal Father. It is indeed the image 
of a just patriarch that fills the mind and wings the fancy of the 
eldest prophets, when they describe the nature of Jehovah, their 
God. Jehovah is the husband of the people. Israel shall be his 
true and loyal spouse. The children of Israel are his children. 
Unchastity and irreligion are synonymous terms. And thus, if 
we err not, the peculiar feature of Hebrew character, their faith- 
ful attachment to kith and kin, the strength and purity of their 
domestic affections, serves to explain the peculiar character, the 
origin and development of the Hebrew religion. And because 
the essential elements of the new religion were moral elements 
it could not tolerate the Nature-worship of the heathens ; and 
the way was prepared for the gradual ascendency of the purely 
spiritual in religion, which after ages of gradual progress con- 
stituted the last, the lasting triumph of prophecy. 

After ages of development ! For we are not to suppose that, 
in the centuries succeeding Hosea, the doctrines of the prophetic 


APPENDIX. 


195 


schools had become in any sense the property of the people at 
large. “ The powers that be ” were arrayed against them, and 
the annals of the kings are replete with evidence of their suffer- 
ings. It was in the late reign of Josiah that they at last received 
not only the countenance of the reigning monarch, but also a 
decisive influence upon the direction of affairs. In that reign a 
scroll was found in the temple imbued with the doctrine of the 
unity of God, and breathing the vigorous spirit of the prophets. 
In it was emphasized the heart’s religion in preference to the 
empty ceremonial of priestly worship. The allegiance of the 
people was directed toward the God who had elected them from 
among the nations of the earth, and dire disaster was predicted 
in case of disobedience. When brought to the king and read in 
his presence, he was powerfully affected, and determined, if pos- 
sible, to stem the tide of impending ruin by such salutary meas- 
ures of reform as the injunctions of the newly-found Scripture 
seemed most urgently to call for. The concurrence of many 
critics has identified this scroll, written and published at or 
about the time when the youthful Josiah succeeded to the throne 
of his ancestors, with Deuteronomy, the fifth of the books of 
Moses. It differs materially from the more recent writings of 
the Pentateuch. The family of Aaron are not yet exclusively 
endowed with the priesthood. The priests are all Levites, the 
Levites all priests. There are, moreover, other vital differences, 
into which the limits of this article do not permit us to enter . 1 
The date of the composition of Deuteronomy is thus referred to 
the closing decades of the seventh century B. C . 2 

The princes who succeeded Josiah fell back into the old 
course, and quite undid the work which had begun with such 
fair promise. Indeed, little permanent good was to be hoped 
for in so disordered a condition of political affairs, and from the 
degenerate rulers who then swayed the helm of state. The for- 

1 E. g., the rebellion of Korah is unknown to the author of Deu- 
teronomy. 

2 The language of Deuteronomy attests its late origin. Sixty-six 
phrases of Deuteronomy recur in the writings of Jeremiah. Vide 
Zunz, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Geselischaft, xxviii., 
p. 670. 


196 


APPENDIX. 


tunes of the kingdom of Judah were swiftly declining, and, not 
fully a quarter of a century after the pious Josiah had breathed 
his last, Nebuchadnezzar burned the Temple of Jerusalem, and 
carried its inhabitants captive to Babylon. 

Heretofore, with but a brief, brilliant interlude, idolatry had 
been the court religion of Judah. Early training, long usage, 
the example of revered ancestors, had endeared its forms and 
symbols to the affections of the people. Resistance to the in- 
novating prophets was natural ; men being then, as ever, loath 
to abandon the sacred usages which had come down to them 
from the distant generations of the past. But, in the long years 
of the captivity, a profound change came over the spirit of the 
Hebrew people ; “by Babel’s streams they sat and wept;” by 
Babel’s streams they recalled the memories of their native land, 
that land which they had lost. It was then that the voices of 
Jehovah’s messengers, which had so earnestly warned them of 
the approaching doom, recurred to their startled recollection. 
They remembered the message ; they beheld its fulfillment ; the 
testimony of the prophets had been confirmed by events ; the 
one God to whom they testified had revealed his omnipotence in 
history; and with ready assent the exiles promised allegiance 
to his commandments in the future. The love of country, the 
dread of further chastisement, the dear hope of restoration, com- 
bined to win them to the purer worship of their God, and, in the 
crucible of Babylon, the national religion was purged of the last 
dregs of heathendom. 

With the permission of Cyrus, the Jews returned to Palestine 
and the Temple at Jerusalem was rebuilt. The question now 
arose in what forms the ceremonial of the new sanctuary should 
be conducted. The time-honored festivals, the solemn and joy- 
ful convocations, the sacrifices and purifications of the olden 
time, were all more or less infected with the taint of paganism. 
Prophecy would have none of them — prophecy, free child of 
genius, contemned sacrifice, denounced the priesthood, even the 
temple and its ritual; 1 proclaimed humbleness and loving-kind- 
ness as the true service in which Jehovah takes delight. There 
was formalism on the one hand, idealism on the other. As is 

1 Jeremiah vii. 4 ; Isaiah lxvi. 1 ; Micah vi. 6. 


APPENDIX. 


197 


usual in such cases, when the time had arrived for turning theory 
into practice, it was found necessary to effect a compromise. As 
Christianity in later days adopted the yule-tree into its system, 
and lit the lamps of the heathen festival of the 25th of December 
in honor of the nativity of its founder, so the leaders of the Jews, 
in the fifth century before our era, adopted the feasts and usages 
of an ancient Nature-worship, breathed into them a new spirit, 
informed them with a loftier meaning, and made them tokens, 
symbols of the eternal God. The old foes were thus reconciled ; 
priesthood and prophecy joined hands, and were thenceforth 
united. As an offspring of this union, we behold a new code of 
laws and prescriptions, whose marked and inharmonious features 
at once betray the dual nature of its progenitors. “ A rough 
preliminary draft, as it were,” of this code, is preserved in the 
book of Ezekiel, composed probably about the middle of the fifth 
century. In its finished and final shape, it forms the bulk of a 
still later work — of Leviticus, namely the third of the books of 
the Pentateuch : of all the discoveries of criticism none more 
noteworthy, none we are permitted to consider more assured. 
What lends additional certainty to the result is the circumstance 
that it was reached independently by two of the most esteemed 
scholars of our day, the one a Professor of Theology in the 
University of Leyden, 1 the other a veteran of thought, whose 
brow is wreathed by the ripe honors of more than fourscore 
years. 2 Let us briefly advert to the line of argument by which 
this astonishing conclusion was reached : 

The author of the book of Ezekiel was a priest, and one con- 
fessedly loyal to the sanctuary of Jerusalem. Now, had the laws 
of the Levitical code, which minutely describe the ritual of that 
sanctuary, existed, or been regarded as authoritative in his day, 
he could not, would not have disregarded, much less contra- 
dicted, their provisions. He does this, and, be it remarked, in 
points of capital importance. In chapter xlv. of Ezekiel are 
mentioned the great festivals, with the sacrifices appropriate to 
each ; but the feast of Pentecost, commanded in Leviticus, is 
entirely omitted ; also that of the eighth day of tabernacles. 
The second of the daily burnt-offerings, upon which the legis- 

1 Prof. A. Kuenen. 2 The venerable Dr. Zunz, of Berlin. 


1 98 


APPENDIX. 


lator of the fourth book of Moses dwells with such marked 
emphasis, is not commanded. The order of sacrifices appointed 
in Ezekiel is at variance with that in the more recent code. 
Ezekiel nowhere mentions the ark of the covenant. According 
to him, the new year begins on the tenth of the seventh month, 
while the festival of the trumpets, ordained in Leviticus for the 
first of that month (the present new year of the Jews), is no- 
where referred to. We are not to suppose, however, that the 
festivals, the ark, etc., did not yet exist in the time of Ezekiel. 
They existed, no doubt, but were still too intimately associated 
with pagan customs and superstitions to receive or merit the 
countenance of a prophetic writer. In Leviticus the process of 
assimilation above described had reached its climax. The new 
meaning had been successfully engrafted upon the rites and 
symbols of the olden time ; and they were thenceforth freely 
employed. The legislation of the Levitical code exhibits the 
familiar features which in every 'instance mark the ascendency 
or consolidation of the hierarchical order. The lines of grada- 
tion and distinction between the members of the order among 
themselves are precisely drawn and strictly adhered to. The 
prerogatives of the whole order as against the people are fenced 
about with stringent laws. The revenues of the order are 
largely increased. In the older code of Deuteronomy, the 
annual tithes were set apart for a festival occasion, and given 
over to the enjoyment of the people. In the new code, the hi- 
erarchy claims the tithes for its own use. New taxes are in- 
vented. The best portions of the sacrificial animal are reserved 
for the banquets of the Temple. The first-born of men and 
cattle belong to the priesthood, and must be ransomed by the 
payment of a sum of money. In no period prior to the fifth 
century B. C. was the hierarchy powerful enough to design such 
laws. At that time, however, when in the absence of a temporal 
sovereign they, with the high-priest at their head, were the ac- 
knowledged rulers of the state, they were both prepared to con- 
ceive and able to carry them into effect. The language of Le- 
viticus contributes not a little to betray its late origin . 1 The 

1 To mention only a single instance, ha Shem (meaning the name, 
i. e. the ineffable name of God) was not employed until a very late 


APPENDIX. 


I99 


authorship of Moses attributed to the Levitical code is symboli- 
cal. The name of Moses is utterly unknown to the elder proph - 
ets. In all their manifold writings it does not occur a single 
time, though they make frequent reference to the past. There 
can now be little doubt that the composition of the bulk of Le- 
viticus, and of considerable portions of the books of Numbers, 
Exodus, and even parts of Genesis, belongs to the epoch of the 
second Temple, and that the date of these writings may be 
approximately fixed at about one thousand years after the time 
of Moses. As to the story of Israel’s desert wanderings, it rests 
upon ancient traditions whose character it is not our present 
business to investigate. It was successively worked up in vari- 
ous schools of priests and prophets, and this accounts for the 
host of discrepancies it contains, some of which have been no- 
ticed in the beginning of this essay. It was finally amplified by 
the inventive genius of the second-Temple priesthood, who suc- 
ceeded in heightening the sanctity of their own institutions by 
tracing them back to a revered, heroic person, who had lived in 
the dim days of remote antiquity. 

In the preceding pages we have indicated the more impor- 
tant phases of that conflict which ended in the establishment of 
monotheism, a conflict whose traces, though sometimes barely 
legible, are still preserved in our records. We saw in the first in- 
stance that the Mosaic age is shrouded in uncertainty. We pointed 
out that pure monotheism was unknown in the time of the early 
kings. We briefly referred to the rise of monotheism. Finally, 
we endeavored to show how the prophetic idea had been suc- 
cessively expressed in various codes, each corresponding to a cer- 
tain stage in the great process of evolution. From what we 
have said, it follows that the prophetic ideal of religion is the 
root and core of all that is valuable in the Hebrew Bible. The 
laws, rites, and observances, in which it found a temporary and 
changeful expression, may lose their vitality ; it will always con- 
tinue to exert its high influence. It was not the work of one 
man, nor of a single age, but was reached in the long course of 

period in the history of the Jews, when the fear of taking the name 
of the Lord in vain induced men to avoid, if possible, mentioning it 
at all. We find ha Shem in the above sense in Lev. xxiv. II. 


200 


APFENDIX. 


generations on generations, evolved amid error and vice, slowly, 
and against all the odds of time. It has been said that the 
Bible is opposed to the theory of evolution. The Bible itself is 
a prominent example of evolution in history. It is not homo- 
geneous in all its parts. There are portions filled with tales of 
human error and fallibility. These are the incipient stages of 
an early age— the dark and dread beginnings. There are others 
thrilling with noblest emotion, freighted with eternal truths, 
breathing celestial music. These are the triumph and the fru- 
ition of a later day. It is thus by discriminating between what 
is essentially excellent and what is comparatively valueless that 
we shall best reconcile the discordant claims of reason and of 
faith. The Bible was never designed to convey scientific in- 
formation, nor was it intended to serve as a text-book of history. 
In its ethical teachings lies its true significance. On them it 
may fairly rest its claims to the immortal reverence of mankind. 

There was a time in the olden days of Greece when it was 
demanded that the poems of Homer should be removed from 
the schools, lest the minds of the young might be poisoned by 
the weeds of superstitious belief. Plato, the poet-philosopher, 
it was who urged this demand. That time is past. The tales 
of the gods and heroes have long since ceased to entice our 
credulity. The story of Achilles’s wrath and the wanderings of 
the sage Ulysses are not believed as history, but the beauty and 
freshness and the golden poetry of the Homeric epic have a 
reality all their own, and are a delight and a glory now, as they 
have ever been before. The Bible also is a classical book. It 
is the classical book of noble ethical sentiment. In it the mortal 
fear, the overflowing hope, the quivering longings of the human 
soul toward the better and the best, have found their first, their 
freshest, their fittest utterance. In this respect it can never be 
superseded. 

To Greek philosophy we owe the evolution of the logical 
categories ; to Hebrew prophecy, the pure canon of moral 
principle and action. That this result was the outcome of a 
long process of suffering and struggle cannot diminish its value 
in our estimation. When we compare the degrading offices of 
the Hebrew religion in the days of the judges with the lofty 


APPENDIX. 


201 


aspirations of the second Isaiah, when we remember the utter 
abyss of moral abasement from which the nobler spirits of the 
Hebrews rose to the free heights of prophecy, our confidence 
in the divine possibilities of the human soul is reinvigorated, our 
emulation is kindled, and from the great things already accom- 
plished we gather the cheering promise of the greater things 
that are yet to come. It is in this moral incentive that the 
practical value of the evolutionary theory chiefly lies . 1 

1 Most aptly has this thought been expressed in the lines with 
which Goethe welcomed the appearance of F. A. Wolfs “ Pro- 
legomena : ” 

“ Erst die Gesundheit des Mannes, der, endlich vom Namen Homeros 
Kuhn uns befreiend, uns auch fiihrt in die vollere Bahn. 

Denn wer wagte mit Gottern den Kampf ? und wer mit dem Einen ? — 
Doch Homeride zu seyn, auch nur als letzter, ist schon.” 

The Elegy of Hermann und Dorothea. 


II. 


REFORMED JUDAISM. 

The Jews are justly called a peculiar people. During- the 
past three thousand years they have lived apart from their fel- 
low-men, in a state of voluntary or enforced isolation. The 
laws of the Pentateuch directed them to avoid contact with 
heathens. Christianity in turn shunned and execrated them. 
Proud and sensitive by nature, subjected to every species of 
humiliation and contempt, they retired upon themselves, and 
continued to be what the seer from Aram had described them 
in the olden time, “ A people that dwells in solitude." 1 It fol- 
lowed that, in the progress of time, idiosyncrasies of character 
were developed, and habits of thinking and feeling grew up 
amongst them, which could not but contribute to alienate them 
still more from the surrounding world. They felt that they were 
not understood. They were too shy to open their confidence to 
their oppressors. They remained an 'enigma. At wide inter- 
vals books appeared purporting to give an account of the Jews 
and their sacred customs. But these attempts were, in the 
main, dictated by no just or generous motive. Their authors, 
narrow bigots or renegades from Judaism, ransacked the vast 
literature of the Hebrew people for such scattered fragments 
as might be used to their discredit, and exhibited these as sam- 
ples of Jewish manners and Jewish religion. The image thus 
presented, it is needless to say, was extremely untrustworthy. 
And yet the writings of these partial judges have remained al- 
most the only sources from which even many modern writers 
are accustomed to draw their information. The historian is yet 
to come who will dispel the dense mists of prejudice that have 
gathered about Jewish history, and reveal the inward life of this 

1 Numbers xxiii. 9. 




APPENDIX. 


203 


wonderful people, whose perennial freshness has been preserved 
through so many centuries of the most severe trials and perse- 
cution. In one respect, indeed, let us hasten to add, the popu- 
lar judgment concerning the Jews has never been deceived. 
The intense conservatism in religion for which they have become 
proverbial is fully confirmed by facts. There exists no other 
race of men that has approved its fidelity to religious conviction 
for an equal period, under equal difficulties, and amid equal 
temptations. Antiochus, Titus, Firuz, Reccared, Edward I. of 
England, Philip Augustus of France, Ferdinand of Spain, ex- 
hausted the resources of tyranny in vain to shake their constancy. 
Their power of resistance rose with the occasion that called it 
forth ; and their fervid loyalty to the faith transmitted to them 
by the fathers never appeared to greater advantage than when 
it cost them their peace, their happiness, and their life to main- 
tain it. Since the close of the last century, however, a great 
change has apparently come over the Jewish people. Not only 
have they abandoned their former attitude of reserve and 
mingled freely with their fellow-citizens of whatever creed, not 
only have th$y taken a leading part in the great political revo- 
lutions that swept over Europe, but the passion for change, so 
characteristic of the age in which we live, has extended even to 
their time-honored religion ; and a movement aiming at nothing 
less than the complete reformation of Judaism has arisen, and 
rapidly acquired the largest dimensions. The very fact that such 
a movement should exist among such a people is rightly inter- 
preted as a sign of the times deserving of careful and candid 
consideration ; and great interest has accordingly been mani- 
fested of late on the subject of Jewish Reform. In a series of 
articles we shall undertake to give a brief sketch of the origin 
and bearings of the movement. But before addressing our- 
selves to this task it will be necessary to review a few of the 
main causes that have enabled the Jews to perdure in history, 
and to consider the motives that impelled them to resist change 
so long, if we would properly appreciate the process of trans- 
formation that is even now taking place among them. Among 
the efficient forces that conduced to the preservation of the Jew- 
ish people we rank highest : 


204 


APPENDIX. 


THE PURITY OF THEIR DOMESTIC RELATIONS. 

The sacredness of the family tie is the condition both of the 
physical soundness and the moral vigor of nations. The family 
is the miniature commonwealth, upon whose integrity the safety 
of the larger commonwealth depends. It is the seedplot of all 
morality. In the child’s intercourse with its parents the senti- 
ment of reverence is instilled — the essence of all piety, all ideal- 
ism ; also the habit of obedience to rightful authority, which 
forms so invaluable a feature in the character of the loyal citizen. 
In the companionship, of brothers deference to the rights of 
equals is practically inculcated, without which no community 
could exist. The relations between brother and sister give birth 
to the sentiment of chivalry, — regard for the rights of the 
weaker, — and this forms the basis of magnanimity, and every 
generous and tender quality that graces humanity. Reverence 
for superiors, respect for equals, regard for inferiors, — these 
form the supreme trinity of the virtues. Whatever is great and 
good in the institutions and usages of mankind is an application 
of sentiments that have drawn their first nourishment from the 
soil of the family. The family is the school of duties. But it 
has this distinguishing excellency, that among those who are 
linked together by the strong ties of affection duty is founded on 
love. On this account it becomes typical of the perfect morality 
in all the relations of life, and we express the noblest longings 
of the human heart when we speak of a time to come in which 
all mankind will be united “ as one family.” Now the preemi- 
nence of the Jews in point of domestic purity will hardly be dis- 
puted. “ In this respect they stand out like a bold promontory 
in the history of the past, singular and unapproached,” said the 
philosopher Trendelenburg. 1 According to the provisions of the 
Mosaic Code, the crime of adultery is punished with death. The 
most minute directions are given touching the dress of the 
priests and the common people, in order to check the pruriency 
of fancy. The scale of forbidden marriages is widely extended 

1 Vide the essay on the Origin of Monotheism in Jahrbuch des 
Vereins fur Wissenschaftliche Padagogik, Vol. IX. 1877, by the author 
of this article. 


APPENDIX. 


205 


with the same end in view. Almost the entire tribe of Benjamin 
is extirpated to atone for an outrage upon feminine virtue com- 
mitted within its borders. The undutiful son is stoned to death 
in the presence of the whole people. That husband and wife 
shall become “ as one flesh,” is a conception which we find 
only among the Jews. Among them the picture of the true 
housewife which is unrolled to us in Proverbs had its orisfinal, — ■ 
the picture of her who unites all womanly grace and gentleness, 
in whose environment dwell comfort and beauty, “ whose hus- 
band and sons rise up to praise her.” The marriage tie was 
held so sacred that it was freely used by the prophets to de- 
scribe the relations between the Deity and the chosen people. 
Jehovah is called the husband of the people. Israel shall be his 
true and loyal spouse. The children of Israel are his children. 
The worship of false gods was designated by the Hebrew word 
that signifies conjugal infidelity. This feature of Jewish life re- 
mained equally prominent in later times. In the age of the 
Talmud marriage was called Hillula, — a song of praise ! The 
most holy day of the year, the tenth of the seventh month, a day 
of fasting and the atonement of sins, was deemed a proper 
occasion to collect the young people for the purpose of choosing 
husbands and wives. On that day the maidens of Jerusalem, 
arrayed in pure white, went out into the vineyards that -covered 
the slopes of the neighboring hills, dancing as they went, and 
singing as the bands of youth came up to meet them from the 
valleys. “ Youth, raise now thine eyes,” sang the beautiful 
among them, “and regard her whom thou choosest.” ,Look not 
to beauty,” sang the well-born, “ but rather to ancient lineage 
and high descent.” Lastly, those who were neither beautiful 
nor well born took up the strain, and thus they sang : “ Treach- 
erous is grace, and beauty deceitful ; the woman that fears God 
alone shall be praised.” The appropriateness of such proceed- 
ings on the Atonement day was justified by the remark that 
marriage is itself an act of spiritual purification. The high value 
attached to the institution of the family is further illustrated by 
many tender legends of the Talmud which we cannot here stop 
to recount. A separate gate, it is said, was reserved in Solo- 
mon’s Temple for the use of bridegrooms, before which they 


20 6 


APPENDIX. 


received the felicitations of the assembled people. The marriage 
celebration was essentially a festival of religion. Seven days it 
lasted. The Talmudic law, usually so unbending in its exac- 
tions, relaxed its austerity in favor of these auspicious occasions, 
and recommended to all to rejoice with the joyful. On the Sab- 
bath of the marriage-week, the young husband was received 
with peculiar honors in the synagogue, and the liturgy of the 
mediaeval Jews is crowded with hymns composed in honor of 
these solemn receptions. If a whole congregation thus united 
to magnify and sanctify the erection of a new home, the con- 
tinued preservation of its sanctity might safely be left to the jeal- 
ous watchfulness of its inmates. Cases of sensual excess or of 
unfilial conduct have been extremely infrequent among the Jews, 
down to modern times. However mean the outward appearance 
of their homes might be, the moral atmosphere that pervaded 
them was rarely contaminated. If the question be asked, how 
it came about that so feeble a people could resist the malevo- 
lence of its foes ; that a nation, deprived of any visible rallying- 
point, with no political or religious centre to cement their union, 
had not long since been wiped out from the earth’s surface, we 
answer that the hearth was their rallying-point and the centre 
of their union. There the scattered atoms gained consistency 
sufficient to withstand the pressure of the world. Thither they 
could come to recreate their torn and lacerated spirits. There 
was the well-spring of their power. 

THE SCHOOLS. 

If the Jewish people were preserved in moral vigor by the 
influence of their domestic life, the care they bestowed on the 
education of the young kept them intellectually fresh. Schools 
were erected in every town and country district. It was forbid- 
den a Jew to reside in cities where no provision had been made for 
the instruction of children. Teachers were called the guardians 
of cities. The destruction of Jerusalem was attributed to the 
fact that the schools had been suffered to fall into neglect. 
Synagogues were often used for purposes of primary instruction. 
“ A sage is greater than a prophet,” said the proverb. To in- 
crease in knowledge, at least in a certain kind of knowledge, was 


APPENDIX. 


207 


a part of the Jew’s religion. According to the theory of th.. 
Rabbies the revelation of God to man is fully embodied in the 
books of the Old Testament, especially in the books of the Pen- 
tateuch, commonly called the Tora, — the Law. They contain, 
either by direct statement or by implication, whatever it is neces- 
sary for men to know. They anticipate all future legislation. 
Though apparently scanty in substance, they are replete with 
suggestions of profound and inexhaustible wisdom. To pene- 
trate the hidden meanings of “ the Law ” became, on this ac- 
count, the primary obligation of the devout ; and ignorance was 
not only despised on its own account, but was, in addition, 
branded as a sign of deficient piety. The ordinances of the 
Jewish sages are all ostensibly deduced from the words of the 
Sacred Law. Without such sanction no enactment of any later 
lawgiver, however salutary in itself, could aspire to general rec- 
ognition. The civil and criminal law, the principles of science, 
sanitary and police regulations, even the rules of courtesy and 
decorum, are alike rested on scriptural authority. The entire 
Talmud may be roughly described as an extended commentary 
on the Mosaic Law . 1 The authors of the Talmud led a studious 
life, and relied in great measure upon the habit of study to pre- 
serve the vitality of their faith. Among the sayings of the sages 2 
we read such as these. Jose ben Joeser says : “ Let thy house 
be the resort of the wise, and let the dust of their feet cover thee, 
and drink in thirstily their words.” Joshua ben Perachia says : 
“ Get thee an instructor, gain a companion [for thy studies], and 
judge all men upon the presumption of their innocence.” Hillel 
says : “ Who gains not in knowledge loses. . . . Say not, 

‘ When I am at leisure I will study ’ ; ’t is likely thou wilt never 
be at leisure. . . . He who increases flesh increases corrup- 

tion ; he who increases worldly goods increases care ; he who 
increases servants increases theft ; but he who increases in the 
knowledge of the Law increases life.” Jochanan ben Sakkai 
says : “ If thou art wise in the knowledge of the Law, take not 
credit to thyself, for to this end wast thou created.” After the 

1 For a concise but comprehensive account of the origin of the 
Talmud, vide the art. Talmud in Johnson’s Encyclopaedia. 

2 Collected in the Tract Aboth (Fathers). 


208 


APPENDIX. 


destruction of the Temple by Titus, academies sacred to the study 
of the Law were erected in different cities of Palestine, and simi- 
lar institutions flourished on the banks of the Euphrates. In the 
eleventh century the chief seats of Jewish learning were trans- 
planted to the West ; and since that time the European Jews 
have excelled their brethren of the East in' all the elements of 
mental culture. In the course of their manifold wanderings the 
Jews carried their libraries everywhere with them. Wherever a 
synagogue arose, a school for young children and a high school 
for youths were connected with it. In the dark night of the 
ghetto the flame of knowledge was never quenched. While the 
nations of Europe were still sunk in barbarism the Jews zealously 
devoted themselves to the pursuit of medicine, mathematics, and 
dialectics, and the love of learning became an hereditary quality 
in their midst. The efforts of many generations have contributed 
to keep their intellectual faculties bright ; and, unlike most op- 
pressed races, they have emerged from a long epoch of system- 
atic persecution well fitted to attack the problems of the present 
with fresh interest and undiminished capacity. 

THE DEMOCRATIC ORGANIZATION OF THE SYNAGOGUE. 

The spirit of monotheism is essentially democratic both in 
politics and religion. There is to be but one king, and he the 
spiritual Lord in heaven. All the people are equal before him. 
When the Hebrews clamorously demanded a king the prophet 
charged them with treason against their proper ruler. The 
prophet and priest were hostile powers ; and their antagonism 
was clearly felt, and sometimes energetically expressed. The 
Lord takes no delight in the slaughter of animals. The bloody 
sacrifices are an offence to Him. What He requires is purity 
of heart, righteous judgment, and care for the widow and the 
fatherless. The idea of priestly mediation — of mediation in any 
shape — was repugnant to the Jews. “The whole people are 
priests,” it was said. When the sanctuary at Jerusalem had 
been laid in ashes, anything resembling a hierarchical caste was 
no longer tolerated among them. The Law and the Science of 
the Law were open to all ; and each one was expected, accord- 
ing to the measure of his capacity, to draw directly from the 


APPENDIX. 


209 


fountain-head of faith. The autonomy of the congregations was 
strictly guarded. Entire uniformity in the ritual was never 
achieved . 1 The public lector of prayers was called “ the dele- 
gate of the congregation.” The Rabbies (the word means 
Masters, in the sense of teachers) were men distinguished for 
superior erudition and the blamelessness of their lives, and these 
qualities formed their only title to distinction . 2 Their duties dif- 
fered radically from those of the Catholic priest or the Protestant 
clergyman. They never took upon themselves the care of souls. 
Their office was to instruct the young, and in general to regulate 
the practice of religion according to the principles and precedents 
laid down in the sacred traditions of their people. The several 
congregations were independent of each other. There were no 
general synods or councils, no graded hierarchy culminating in 
a spiritual head, no oligarchy of ministers and elders ; but rather 
a federation of small communities, each being a sovereign unit, 
and connected with the others solely by the ties of a common 
faith, common sympathies, and common sufferings. Any ten 
men were competent to form themselves into a congregation, 
and to discharge all the duties of religion. The fact that this 
was so proved of the utmost consequence in preserving the in- 
tegrity of Judaism. The Jews were parcelled out over the whole 
earth. The body of the people was again and again divided. 
But in every case the barest handful that remained sufficed to 
become the nucleus of new organizations. Had the system of 
Judaism required any one central organ, a blow aimed against 
this would doubtless have proved fatal to the whole. But by 
the wise provisions of the federative system the vital power 
seems to have been equally disseminated over the entire com- 
munity. Like the worm that is trodden under foot, to which, 
Israel so often likens itself in the Hebrew prayers, the divided 
members lived a new life of their own, and though apparently 
crushed beneath the heel of their oppressors, they ever rose 
again in indestructible vitality. 

1 Vide Zunz Die Ritus. 

2 Many of them supported themselves by following some humble 
calling, refusing to receive remuneration for their teachings, on the 
principle that the Law “ should not be made a spade to dig with.” 


210 


APPENDIX. 


THE INFLUENCE OF PERSECUTION. 

In surveying the history of the Jewish people we find a 
strange blending of nationalism and cosmopolitism illustrated 
in their actions and beliefs. They proudly styled themselves 
the elect people of God, they looked down with a certain con- 
tempt upon the Gentile nations, yet they conceived themselves 
chosen, not on their own account, but for the world’s sake, in 
order to spread the knowledge of the true God among men. 
They repudiated heathenism, and regarded Trinitarianism as an 
aberration. In contradistinction to these their mission was to 
protect the purity of the monotheistic religion until in the mil- 
lennial age all nations would gather about their “ holy Mount.” 
They considered their own continued existence as a people fore- 
ordained in the Divine scheme , 1 because they believed them- 
selves divinely commissioned to bring about the eternal happi- 
ness of the human race. The centripetal and centrifugal forces 
of character were thus evenly balanced, and this circumstance 
contributed not a little to enliven their courage in the face of 
long-continued adversity. When the independence of Greece 
was lost, the Greeks ceased to exist as a nation. But the loss 
of the Temple and the fatherland gave barely more than a pass- 
ing shock to the national consciousness of the Jews. Easily 
they acclimatized themselves in every quarter of the globe. The 
fact of their dispersion was cited by Christianity as a sign of 
their rejection by God. They themselves regarded it as a part 
of their mission to be scattered as seed over the whole earth. 
That they should suffer was necessary, they being the Messianic 
people ! Their prayers were filled with lamentations and the 
recital of their cruel woes. But they invariably ended with 
words of promise and confidence in the ultimate fulfillment of 
Israel’s hope. Thus in the very depths of their degradation 
they were supported by a sense of the grandeur of their desti- 
nies, and by the proud consciousness that their sufferings were 

1 “ Let it not seem strange to you that we should regain our for- 
mer condition, even though only a single one of us were left, as it is 
written, ‘Fear not, thou worm, Jacob!”’ — Juda ha-Levi, in the 
book Cusari (twelfth century), iii. u. 


APPENDIX. 


2 1 1 


the price paid for the world’s spiritual redemption. In the 
earlier half of the Middle Ages the Jews were still permitted to 
enjoy a certain measure of liberty. In Spain, France and Ger- 
many they lived on amicable terms with their neighbors, they 
engaged in trade and manufacture, and were allowed to possess 
landed property. In the tenth and eleventh centuries a great 
part of the city of Paris was owned by Jews. But at the time 
of the Crusades a terrible change in the aspect of their affairs 
took place. The principles embodied in the canonical law had 
by this time entered into the practice of the European nations. 
Fanaticism was rampant. The banks of the Rhine and the Mo- 
selle became the theatre of the most pitiless persecution. Among 
the Crusaders the cry was raised, “We go to Palestine to slay 
the unbelievers ; why not begin with the infidel Jews in our own 
midst ? ” Worms, Spires, Mayence, Strassburg, Basle, Regens- 
burg, Breslau, witnessed the slaughter of their Jewish inhabitants. 
Toward the close of the thirteenth century one hundred thousand 
Jews perished at the hands of Rindfleisch, and the murderous 
hordes of whom he was the leader. To add fuel to the passions 
of the populace the most absurd accusations were brought for- 
ward against them, and their religion was made odious by con- 
necting it with charges of grave moral obliquity. Jewish physi- 
cians being in great request, especially at the court of kings, it 
was given out that with fiendish malice they were wont to pro- 
cure the death of their Christian patients . 1 They were accused 
of killing Christian children, and using the blood of Christians in 
celebrating the Passover festival, and this monstrous falsehood 
was repeated until no one doubted its substantial truth. Let it 
be remembered that this charge was originally preferred, in a 
somewhat different shape, against the Christians themselves. It 
floated down, as such rumors will, from age to age, until, its 
authorship being forgotten, it was finally used as a convenient 
handle against the hated Jews. In this manner the Easter-tide 
which was to announce the triumph of a religion of love became 
to the Jews a season of terror and mortal agony, and the Easter 
dawn was often reddened with the flames that rose from Jewish 
homes. It is impossible to calculate the number of lives that 


1 Thus in the case of Charles the Bald, and others. 


212 


APPENDIX. 


have been lost in consequence of this single accusation. It has 
lived on even into the present century. 1 In the fourteenth cen- 
tury the Black Death devastated the Continent of Europe. Soon 
the opinion gained ground that the Jews were responsible for 
the ravages of the plague. It was claimed that the Rabbi of 
Toledo had sent out a venomous mixture concocted of conse- 
crated wafers and the blood of Christian hearts to the various 
congregations, with orders to poison the wells. The Pope him- 
self undertook to plead for their innocency, but even papal bulls 
were powerless to stay the popular madness. In Dekkendorf a 
church was built in honor of the massacre of the Jews of that 
town, and the spot thus consecrated has remained a favorite re- 
sort of pilgrims down to modern times. The preaching friars 
of the Franciscan and Dominican orders were particularly active 
in fanning the embers of bigotry whenever they threatened to 
die down. In England, France and Spain the horrors enacted 
in Germany were repeated on a scale of similar magnitude. The 
tragic fate of the Jews of York, the fury of the Pastoureaux, the 
miserable scenes that accompanied the exodus of the Jews from 
Spain are familiar facts of history. In Poland, in the seventeenth 
century, the uprising of the Cossacks under the chieftainship of 
Chmielnicki became once more the signal of destruction. It is 
estimated that in ten years (1648-1658) upwards of two hundred 
and fifty thousand Jews perished. 2 Even when the lives of the 
Jews were spared, their condition was so extremely wretched 
that death might often have seemed the preferable alternative. 
The theory propounded by the Church and acted out by the 
temporal rulers of the Middle Ages is expressed in the words of 

1 In the year 1840 it was simultaneously renewed in Rhenish 
Prussia, on the Isle of Rhodos, and in the city of Damascus. In that 
city the most respected members of the Jewish community were ar- 
rested, with the assistance of the French Consul, Ratti Menton, and 
underwent cruel torture. The intense excitement caused throughout 
Europe at the time is, doubtless, still fresh in the memory of many 
who will read these pages. The utter falsity of the charge was at 
last exposed, thanks to the efforts of the Austrian Consul Merlato 
and the energetic action of Lord Palmerston. 

2 Graetz, Gesch. der Juden, X: p. 78. 


APPENDIX. 


213 


Innocent III., “Quos propria culpa submisit perpetuse servituti, 
quum Dominum crucifixerint — pietas Christiana receptet et sus- 
tineat cohabitationem illorum.” 1 

By the crucifixion of Jesus the Jews had forfeited for them- 
selves and their posterity the right to exist in Christian states. 
They lived on sufferance merely. In the feudal system there 
was no room for them. They were aliens, were regarded as the 
property of the Emperor, and he was free to deal with them as 
suited his convenience. Hence the name servi camera — ser- 
vants of the imperial chamber — was applied to them. They 
could be sold, purchased, given away at pleasure. Charles IV. 
presented “ the persons and property of his Jews ” to the city 
of Worms. In a schedule of toll-dues dating from the year 1398 
we read : “ a horse pays two shillings, a Jew six shillings, an ox 
two heller.” 2 They were compelled to wear a badge of shame 
upon their garments ; 3 were confined to narrow and filthy quar- 
ters, — -ghetto, juderia , — debarred from all honorable employ- 
ments. The schools and universities were closed against them. 
The guilds shut them out from the various trades. To gain 
the means of subsistence nothing remained for them but to en- 
gage in the petty traffic of the peddler or the disreputable busi- 
ness of the money-lender. They had absolutely no choice in 
the matter. The laws of Moses certainly discountenance the 
lending of money at interest. The authorities of the Tal- 
mud severely condemn the practice of usury, and refuse to 
admit the testimony of usurers in courts of law. 4 But all scru- 
ples on the part of the Jews had now to be set aside. Gold 
they must have, and in abundance. It was the only means of 
buying their peace. The taxes levied by the imperial chamber 

1 Cassel, art. Juden , p. 83, in Ersch und Gruber ; vide also p. 85, 
“ad perpetuam Judaici sceleris ultionem eisdem Judaeis incuxerit 
perpetuam servitutem.” 

2 Ibid, p. 91. 

3 The signum circulare was borrowed from Islam. It has been 
ingeniously conjectured that the circular form was selected in con- 
tradistinction to the sign of the crescent. Ibid, p. 75. 

4 Mishna Sanhedrin, III. 3. 


214 


APPENDIX. 


were enormous. 1 The cities, the baronial lords, in whose terri- 
tory they took refuge, constantly imposed new burdens as the 
price of toleration. The Jews have often been held up to con- 
tempt for their avarice and rapacity. The reproach is unjust. It 
reminds one of the ancient Philistines, who, having shorn the 
Hebrew of his strength and blinded him, called him with jeers 
from his prison-house to exhibit him to the popular gaze and to 
make sport of his infirmity. 

Under these circumstances the conservatism of the Jews in 
matters of religion can no longer astonish us. Rejected by the 
world, they lived in a world of their own. They had inherited 
from their ancestors an extended code of ceremonial observances, 
dietary laws, and minute and manifold directions for the con- 
duct of life. In these they beheld the bulwark of their religion, 
the common bond that united the scattered members of their 
race. The Jew of Persia or Palestine could come among his 
German brethren, and hear the same prayers expressed in the 
same language, and recognize the same customs as were current 
among his co-religionists in the East. The passwords of the 
faith were everywhere understood. To preserve complete 
unanimity with respect to religious usage was a measure dic- 
tated by the commanding instinct of self-preservation. The 
Jews of all countries were furthermore united by the common 
yearnings with which they looked back to the past, and their 
common hope of ultimate restoration to the heritage of the 
promised land. 2 However prolonged their abode in the land of 
the stranger might be. they never regarded it otherwise than in 
the light of a temporary sojourn, and Palestine remained their 
true fatherland. “ If I forget thee, Jerusalem, wither my right 

1 A general tax paid in recognition of the Emperor’s protection ; 
the Temple tax claimed by the Holy Roman Emperor in his capacity 
as the successor of Vespasian ; the so-called auru/n coronariwn, or 
coronation tax, by virtue of which every new emperor, upon his ac- 
cession to the throne, could confiscate the third part of the property 
of the Jews. Besides these, extraordinary levies were frequent. 

2 On the eve of the 9th of the fifth month it was customary at 
Jerusalem to announce the number of years that had elapsed since the 
fall of the Temple. Zunz, Die Ritus, p. 84. 


APPENDIX. 


215 


hand,” was sung as plaintively on the banks of the Danube and 
the Rhine as it had resounded of old by Babel’s streams. The 
Jewish people walked through history as in a dream, their eyes 
fixed on Zion’s vanished glories. Empires fell ; wars devastated 
the earth ; new manners, new modes of life, arose around them. 
What was all this toil and turmoil of the nations to them ! 
They were not admitted to the fellowship of mankind, they pre- 
served their iron stability, they alone remained changeless. So 
long as the world maintained its hostile attitude toward them, 
there was little likelihood that they would abandon their time- 
honored traditions. But toward the close of the last century 
the first tokens of political, social, and spiritual regeneration 
began to appear among the despondent people of the Hebrews. 
The spirit of the Reformation, which had slumbered so long, 
awoke to new vitality. The voice of love rebuked the selfish- 
ness of creeds ; Philosophy in the person of Kant emphasized 
the duties of man to man ; Poetry sent its warm breath 
through the German land, and with its sweet strains instilled 
broad, humanitarian doctrine into the hearts of men. Lessing 
celebrated the virtues of his friend, Moses Mendelssohn, in 
“Nathan the Wise,” and in the parable of the rings showed 
how the true religion is to be sought and found. The Royal 
Academy at Berlin nominated the same Mendelssohn for mem- 
bership in its body. Jewish scholars were received with dis- 
tinction in the Austrian and Prussian capitals. Eminent states- 
men and writers began to exert themselves to remove the foul 
blot that had so long stained the conduct of the Christian states 
in their dealings with the Jews. In France the great Revolution 
was rapidly sweeping away the accumulated wrongs of centu- 
ries. When the emancipation of the Jews came up for discus- 
sion in the Convention, the ablest speakers rose in their behalf. 
The Abbe Gregoire exclaimed : “ A new century is about to 
open. May its portals be wreathed with the palm of humanity ! ” 
Mirabeau lent his mighty eloquence to their cause. “ I will not 
speak of tolerance,” he said ; “ the freedom of conscience is a 
right so sacred that even the name of tolerance involves a species 
of tyranny.” 1 On the 28th September, 1 79 r » National Con- 

Wide the account of the debates in the official Moniteur. 


21 6 


APPENDIX. 


vention decreed the equality of the Israelites of France with 
their Christian fellow-citizens. The waves of the Revolution, 
however, overflowed the borders of France, and the agitation 
they caused was quickly communicated to all Germany. Wher- 
ever the armies of the Republic penetrated, the gates of the 
ghettos were thrown open, and in the name of Fraternity, Lib- 
erty and Equality were announced to their inhabitants. When 
Napoleonic misrule at last exasperated Germany into resistance, 
the seeds which French influence had sown had already taken 
firm root in the German soil. On the nth March, 1812, Fred- 
erick William III. issued his famous edict, removing the main 
disabilities from which the Jews of his dominions had suffered, 
granting them the rights and imposing upon them the honorable 
duties of citizenship. They were no longer to be classed as 
foreigners. The state claimed them as its children, and exacted 
of them the same sacrifices as all its sons were called upon to 
bring in the troublous times that soon followed. With what eager 
alacrity the Jews responded to the king’s call the records of the 
German wars for independence amply testify. On the battle- 
fields of Leipzig and Waterloo they stood side by side with their 
Christian brethren. Many sons and fathers of Jewish house- 
holds yielded their lives in the country’s defence. In the blood 
of the fallen the new covenant of equal justice was sealed for all 
time to come. However prejudice might still dog their foot- 
steps, however shamefully the government might violate its 
solemn pledges to the Jewish soldiers on their return from the 
wars, the Jews of Germany had now gained what they could no 
more lose. They felt that the land for which they had adven- 
tured their all, in whose behalf they had lost so much, was in- 
deed their fatherland. For the first time, after many, many 
centuries, the fugitives had gained a home, a country. They 
awoke as from a long sleep. They found the world greatly 
changed around them ; vast problems engaging the attention of 
thinkers, science and philosophy everywhere shedding new light 
upon the path of mankind. They were eager to approve them- 
selves worthy and loyal citizens, eager to join in the general work 
of progress. They dwelt no more with anxious preference on 
the past. The present and the future demanded their exertions. 


APPENDIX. 


217 


and the motives that had so long compelled their exclusion from 
the fellowship of the Gentiles were gradually disappearing. As 
their religion was mainly retrospective in character and exclusive 
in tendency, great changes were needed to bring it into har- 
mony with the altered condition of affairs. These changes 
were accordingly attempted, and their history is the history of 
Jewish Reform. 


III. 


REFORMED JUDAISM. 

Reformed Judaism originated in Germany ; its leading rep- 
resentatives have invariably been Germans. The history of 
Germany during the past one hundred years is the background 
upon which our account of the movement must be projected. 

The Jews of Germany had waited long and patiently for de- 
liverance. At last, toward the close of the eighteenth century 
it came, and one whom they delight to call their “ Second 
Moses ” arose to lead them into the promised land of freedom. 
This was Moses Mendelssohn. Ilis distinguished merits as a 
writer on philosophy and aesthetics we need not here pause to 
dilate upon, but shall proceed at once to consider him in his re- 
lations to the political, social, and religious emancipation of his 
people. In each of these different directions his example and 
influence upon others served to initiate a series of salutary 
changes, and he may thus appropriately be termed the father of 
the Reform movement in its widest acceptation. It was Men- 
delssohn who, in 1781, inspired Christian Wilhelm Dohm to 
publish his book “On the Civil Amelioration of the Jews,” a 
work in which an earnest plea for their enfranchisement was for 
the first time put forth. The author points to the thrift and fru- 
gality that mark the Jewish race, their temperate habits and love 
of peace, and exposes the folly of debarring so valuable a class 
of the population from the rights of the citizen. He appeals to 
the wisdom of the government to redeem the errors and injustice 
of the past ; he defends the Jews against the absurd charges 
which were still repeated to their discredit, and strenuously in- 
sists that liberty and humane treatment would not only accrue 
to their own advantage, but- would ultimately redound to the 
honor and lasting welfare of the state. Dohm’s book created a 
profound impression, and though it failed to produce immediate 


APPENDIX. 


2 IQ 


results, materially aided the cause of emancipation at a later 
period. 

Again Mendelssohn was the first to break through the social 
restraints that obstructed the intercourse of Jews and Christians, 
and thus triumphed over a form of prejudice which is commonly 
the last to yield. His fame as a writer greatly assisted him in 
this respect. The grace and freshness of his style, the apparent 
ease with which he divested the stern problems of philosophy of 
their harsher aspects, had won him many and sincere admirers. 
His “ Phaedon ” was eagerly read by thousands, whom the writ- 
ings of Leibnitz and Kant had repelled. On the afternoon of 
the Jewish Sabbath he was accustomed to assemble many of the 
choice spirits of the Prussian capital, among whom we may men- 
tion Lessing, Nikolai, and Gleim, in his home. The conversa- 
tion turned upon the gravest and loftiest topics that can occupy 
the human soul. The host himself skilfully guided the stream 
of discussion, and the waves of thought flowed easily along in 
that placid, restful motion which is adapted to speculative themes. 
The spirit that of old had hallowed the shades of Academe pre- 
sided over these gatherings. Mendelssohn emulated the plastic 
idealism of Plato and the divine hilarity of Socrates. The sin- 
gular modesty, the truthfulness and quiet dignity that adorned 
his character were reflected upon the people from whom he had 
sprung, and produced a salutary change in their favor in the 
sentiments of the better classes. 

But it is as the author of a profound revolution in the Jewish 
religion that Mendfelssohn attracts our especial interest. Not, 
indeed, that he himself ever assumed the character of a religious 
reformer. He was, on the contrary, sincerely devoted to the or- 
thodox form of Judaism, and even had a change appeared to him 
feasible or desirable, he would in all probability have declined 
the responsibility of publicly advocating it. His was the con- 
templative spirit which instinctively shrinks from the rude con- 
tact of reality. He had neither the aggressive temper nor the 
bold self-confidence that stamp the leader of parties. And yet, 
without intending it, he gave the first impulse to Jewish Reform, 
whose subsequent progress, could he have foreseen it, he would, 
assuredly have been the first to deprecate. 


220 


APPENDIX. 


THE BIBLE. 

The condition of the Jews at the close of the last century was 
in many respects unlike that of any other race that has ever been 
led from a state of subjection to one of acknowledged equality. 
Long oppression had not, on the whole, either blunted their in- 
tellects or debased their morals. If they were ignorant in mod- 
ern science and literature, they were deeply versed in their own 
ancient literature, and this species of learning was not the privilege 
of a single class, but the common property of the whole people. 
What they lacked was system. In the rambling debates of 
the Talmud the true principles of logical sequence are but too 
often slighted, and the student is encouraged to value the subtle 
play of dialectics on its own account, without regard to any 
ultimate gain in positive and useful knowledge. Impatience of 
orderly arrangement being allowed to develop into a habit, be- 
came contagious. It impressed itself equally on the thought, 
the manners, the language 1 of the Jews, and contributed not a 
little to alienate from them the sympathies of the refined. Such, 
however, was the preponderating influence of the Talmud that 
it not only engrossed the attention of the Jewish youth to the 
exclusion of secular knowledge, but even perverted the exegesis 
of the Bible and caused the study of Scripture to be compara- 
tively neglected. To weaken the controlling influence of the 
Talmud became the first needful measure of Reform, and to 
accomplish this it was necessary to give back to the Bible its 
proper place in the education of the young. It was an event, 
therefore, of no mean significance when Mendelssohn, in con- 
junction with a few friends, determined to prepare a German 
translation of the Pentateuch, and thus, by presenting the teach- 
ings of Scripture in the garb of a modern tongue, to render their 
true meaning apparent to every reflecting mind. The work was 
finished in 1783. It holds a like relation to the Jewish Reform 
movement that Luther’s translation held to the great Protestant 
movement of the sixteenth century. It was greeted with a storm 
of abuse upon its appearance, and was loudly execrated by the 

1 The German Jews spoke a mixed dialect of German and Hebrew, 
which has been likened to the so-called Pennsylvania Dutch. 


APPENDIX. 


221 


orthodox as the beginning- of larger and far-reaching innovations. 
Its author might sincerely protest his entire innocency of the 
radical designs imputed to him, but subsequent events have 
proved the keener insight of his opponents. The influence of 
the new translation was twofold. In the first place it facilitated 
a more correct understanding of the doctrine, the literature 
and language of Scripture; secondly, — and this is worthy of 
special remark,— it served the purpose of a text-book of the 
German for the great mass of the Jews, who were at that time 
unable to read a book written in the vernacular, and thus be- 
came the means of opening to them the treasure-house of mod- 
ern thought . 1 In the very year in which Mendelssohn’s work 
appeared we notice among the younger generation a general 
revival of interest in the Hebrew, the mother-tongue of their 
race. Two students of the University of Konigsberg began the 
issue of a periodical devoted to the culture of the Hebrew, which 
was widely read and attracted great attention. Poems, original 
essays, Hebrew versions of modern writings, appeared in its 
columns ; the style of the Prophets and of the Psalmists was 
emulated, the works of the ancient masters of the language 
served as models, and in the aspect of the noble forms employed 
in the diction of the biblical authors the assthetic sense of the 
modern Jews revived. We are inclined to doubt whether the 
Hebrew Bible, considered merely with a view to its assthetic 
value, is even yet fully appreciated. The extravagance of reli- 
gious credulity and the violent extreme of scepticism have alike 
tended to obscure its proper merits. The one accustomed to 
behold in the “ holy book ” a message from the Creator to his 
creatures shrinks, as a rule, from applying to the work of a 
Divine author the critical standard of human composition. The 
sceptics on the other hand, impatient of the exorbitant claims 
which are urged for the sacred writings of the Jews, and resent- 
ing the sway which they still exercise over the human reason, 
are hardly in a proper frame of mind to estimate justly its in- 
trinsic and imperishable excellences. And yet, setting aside all 
questions of the supernatural origin of the Bible, and regarding 

1 The German of Mendelssohn’s translation was written in 
Hebrew letters. 


222 


APPENDIX. 


only the style in which its thoughts are conveyed, how incom- 
parably valuable does it still remain ! It would be difficult to 
calculate the extent to which many of our standard authors are 
indebted for the grandest passages of their works to their early 
familiarity with the biblical style. Those who are able to read 
the text in the original become aware of even subtler beauties 
that escape in the process of translation. Purity of diction, 
power of striking antithesis, simple and yet sublime imagery, a 
marvellous facility in the expression of complex states of feeling, 
and those the deepest of which the human soul is capable, are 
but a few of the obvious features that distinguish the golden age 
of Hebrew literature. Never perhaps has the symbolism of 
nature been used with such supreme effect to express the un- 
speakable emotions that are deep down in the heart of man. 
Such music as that which swells through the pages of Isaiah’s 
prophecies cannot be forgotten ; such ringing, rhythmic 
periods, in which the eloquence of conviction bursts forth into 
the rounded fulness of perfect oratory, can never fail to touch 
and to inspire. We know of no nobler pattern on which the 
modern orator could mould his style. And thus, too, the ex- 
quisite poetry of the Song of Songs, the idyl of the Book of 
Ruth, the weird pathos of Jeremiah’s lament, the grand descrip- 
tions of Job, will ever be counted among the masterpieces 
of human genius. Whatever we may think of the doctrines 
of the Bible, it is safe to predict that the book will live long 
after the myths that surround its origin shall have been dis- 
pelled ; nay, all the more, when it shall cease to be worshipped 
as a fetish will men appreciate its abiding claims to their rever- 
ence, and it will continue to hold its honored place in the libra- 
ries of the nations. The refining influence of the study of the 
Bible soon became evident among the contemporaries of Men- 
delssohn. But in another way also his translation tended to 
their improvement. We have said that it became the means of 
acquainting them with the language of the land. A wide field 
of knowledge, embracing the rich results of modern science, 
philosophy, and art, was thus laid open to their industry. 
Eagerly they availed themselves of the proffered opportunity ; 
schools were erected, in which the elements of liberal culture 


APPENDIX. 


223 

were imparted to the young, and ere long we find a new genera- 
tion of the Jews engaging in honorable competition with their 
Christian brethren for the prize of learning and the rewards of 
literary distinction. It was at this time that Kants “ Critique 
of Pure Reason ” appeared, a work which marks a new epoch 
in the world’s thought. Its profound reasoning and technical 
style made it difficult of comprehension to all but the initiated. 
Three Jewish scholars — Dr. Herz, Salomon Maimon, and Ben- 
David — undertook the task of popularizing its main results, and 
were among the first to call attention to the transcendent impor- 
tance of the new system. Plainly new vital energy was coursing 
through the veins of the Jewish people. 

SOCIAL STANDING. 

But at this very time, while they were rapidly assimilating 
the best results of modern culture and winning the respect and 
confidence of the learned, the Jews of Germany were still labor- 
ing under an odious system of special laws, and beheld them- 
selves excluded from the common rights of citizenship. The 
manly effort of Dohm in their behalf had as yet availed nothing ; 
the voice of bigotry was still supreme in the councils of the sov- 
ereign. And yet they felt themselves to be the equals of those 
whom the law unjustly ranked their superiors, and longed to see 
the barriers done away that still divided them from their fellow- 
men. Many of their number had amassed fortunes, and ex- 
pended their wealth with commendable prudence and generosity. 
They supported needy students, founded libraries, extended 
their knowledge, and refined their tastes. Even the Jewish 
maidens followed the general impulse toward self-culture that 
was setting with such force in the Jewish community. In par- 
ticular the works of Schiller and Goethe, as they successively 
appeared at this period, inflamed their enthusiasm, and none 
were more zealous than they in spreading the fame and influence 
of the new school of German literature. Still they were taught 
to consider themselves an inferior class, and were de&pised as 
such. The position of equality which the narrowness of the 
laws denied them they were resolved to achieve by the weight oi 
character and the force of spiritual attractions. Henrietta de 


224 


APPENDIX. 


Lemos, a young girl of singular beauty and attainments, had at 
this time become the wife of Dr. Herz, of whom we have casu- 
ally spoken above in his connection with Kant. She is described 
as tall, graceful, possessing a face in which the features of Hel- 
lenic and Oriental beauty were blended in exquisite harmony ; 
while the sobriquet of the “ Tragic Muse,” by which she be- 
came known, denoted the majestic nobleness of her presence. 
Under the guidance of competent masters she had acquired 
considerable proficiency in many of the modern and ancient lan- 
guages, and to a mind stored with various knowledge was added 
the mellow charm of a most sweet and loving disposition. At- 
tracted by her fame and captivated by her genius, the most emi- 
nent men of the day sought the privilege of her society. The 
art of conversation, which had till "then received but little atten- 
tion in the Prussian capital, was for the first time cultivated in 
the salon of Henrietta Herz. Sparkling wit and profound phi- 
losophy were alike encouraged. Statesmen high in the service 
of their country sought the amenities of these delightful gather- 
ings. Alexander and Wilhelm von Humboldt, Gentz, Schleier- 
macher, Friedrich von Schlegel, Mirabeau, Dorothea, the daugh- 
ter of Mendelssohn, Rahel, afterwards wife of Varnhagen von 
Ense, were among the intimates of her circle. Christians and 
Jews met here on terms of mutual deference, and forgot for a 
while the paltry distinctions which still kept them asunder in 
the world without. And yet these distinctions, senseless in 
themselves, were full of ominous meaning to those who felt their 
burden. Young men eager for advancement in life found their 
religion an insuperable obstacle in their way. The professions, 
the army, the offices of the government, were closed against 
them. On the threshold of every higher career they were rudely 
repulsed, unless they embraced the base alternative of changing 
their creed to satisfy their ambition. Under these circumstances 
that fidelity to the faith of the fathers which had so long marked 
the conduct of the Jews began seriously to waver, and in many 
instances gave way. Not, indeed, that the new converts became 
true and loyal Christians. On the contrary, they considered the 
rite of baptism a mere hollow form, and left it to the state, 
which had insisted upon their conformance, to justify the deep 


APPENDIX. 


225 


disgrace that was thus brought upon the Christian sacraments. 
Moreover, a certain laxity in the interpretation of dogma had at 
this time become widely prevalent, which greatly assisted them 
in setting, their conscience at ease. Rationalism had stripped 
the positive religions of much of their substance and individu- 
ality. To none of them was an absolute value allowed. They 
were regarded as forms in which a principle higher than all 
forms had found an imperfect and temporary expression. Even 
the influence of Schleiermacher tended rather to obliterate than 
to define the outlines of the contending creeds. Schleiermacher, 
the author of a Protestant revival in Germany, spoke the lan- 
guage of Pantheism, and his opinions are deeply suffused with 
the spirit of Pantheistic teachings. He defines religion to be 
the sense of dependence on the Infinite, the Universal. To the 
fact that different men in different ages have been variously 
affected by the conception of the Infinite he ascribes the origin 
of the different creeds. Theological dogmas, according to him, 
cannot claim to be true in the sense of scientific or philosophical 
propositions. They approach the truth only in so far as they 
typically express certain emotional processes of our soul, and 
those dogmas are nearest the truth which typify emotions of the 
most noble and exalted character. Allowing Christianity to be 
what its learned expounders had defined it, intelligent Jews 
could hardly find it difficult to assume the Christian name. 
It is estimated that in the course of three decades full one 
half of the Jewish community of Berlin were nominally Chris- 
tianized. 

How thoroughly conventional, at the same time, the use of 
the term Christian had become may be judged from a letter ad- 
dressed by David Friedlander, a friend of Mendelssohn’s, to 
Councillor Teller of the Consistory, in which he offered, on be- 
half of himself and some co-religionists, to accept Christianity 
in case they might be permitted to omit the observance of the 
Christian festivals, to reject the doctrine of the Trinity, of the 
divinity of Jesus, and, in fact, whatever is commonly regarded 
as essentially and specifically Christian. It is true the reply of 
the Councillor was not encouraging. 

10* 


226 


APPENDIX. 


PARIS, THE NEW JERUSALEM. 

While the very existence of Judaism was thus threatened in 
Germany, it seemed about to regain its pristine vigor in France. 
More than seventeen centuries had elapsed since the Sanhedrin, 
the High Court of Jerusalem, had passed out of existence. 
Quite unexpectedly it was recalled to momentary life by the 
caprice of the great Corsican, who then ruled the destinies of 
the world. In the year 1806 Napoleon convened a parliament 
of Jewish Notables at Paris in order to definitely settle the rela- 
tions of French Israelites to the state. Soon after an imperial 
decree convoked the grand Sanhedrin for the purpose of ratify- 
ing the decisions of the Notables. The glories of Jerusalem 
were to be renewed in “ modern Babylon ” on the Seine. On 
February 9, 1807, the Sanhedrin met in the Hotel de Ville. Care 
was taken to invest its sittings with due solemnity; the seats of 
the members were arranged in crescent shape about the plat- 
form of the presiding officers, as had been customary at Jerusa- 
lem ; the president was saluted with the title of Nassi (Prince), 
as in the olden time ; the ancient titles and forms were copied 
with scrupulous exactness. Two-thirds of the members were 
Rabbis, the remainder laymen. The opening of the Sanhedrin 
attracted universal attention, but its proceedings were void of 
interest. In fact, its sole task was to lend the authority of an 
ancient tribunal to the action of the Notables, and this having 
been accomplished it was adjourned after a brief session. In 
connection with these conventions of the years 1806 and 1807 it 
behooves us to mention the creation of a new constitution for 
the French synagogue elaborated by the joint efforts of the im- 
perial Commissioners and the Notables. The form of govern- 
ment adopted was moulded on the pattern of the secular power. 
A system of consistories was organized throughout France, cul- 
minating in a central consistory at Paris with a Grand-Rabbin 
at its head. The officers of the consistories were treated as 
officers of the state, the charge of their maintenance was in part 
defrayed at the public expense, and, in the course of time, they 
were placed on a footing of almost complete equality with the 
dignitaries of the Christian churches. The union of the teach- 


APrENDIX. 


22 ; 


ers of Judaism in a species of graded hierarchy, dependent upon 
temporal rulers for their support, was as have have heen ex- 
pected, fruitful of evil results. If it is true that the supremacy 
of the church over the state disturbs the peace of nations and 
endangers the very existence of governments, it is equally cer- 
tain that no religion can long continue to maintain its purity 
when* the church becomes the subservient vassal of the stale. 
Whatever the apparent gain in stability may be, it is more than 
counterbalanced by the loss of spontaneity and sincerity. Hyp- 
ocrisy flourishes, the liberty of conscience is abridged, and a 
spirit of base time-serving eventually prepares the downfall of 
institutions whose perfect safety is consistent only with perfect 
freedom. 

The French Synagogue, as we have indicated, presents a 
case in point. During the past seventy years it has stagnated. 
No single luminous thought lights up its dreary record, no single 
whole-souled effort to appropriate the larger truths of our time 
dignifies its annals. In the history of the Reform movement it 
merits no further mention. 

THE LITURGY. 

Returning to Germany we behold the leading Jews at last 
awakened to the necessity of energetic measures to check the 
wide-spread disaffection that was thinning out their ranks. 
Hitherto the liturgy of the synagogue had not been affected by 
the growing tendency to change. An attempt in this direction 
was initiated by Israel Jacobsohn, the financial agent of the Duke 
of Brunswick, a man of wealth, culture, and generous disposition. 
He was shocked by the scenes of disorder, the utter lack of de- 
corum, that disgraced the public worship ; he was resolved as far 
as in his power lay to correct the abuses which had been allowed 
to grow up unrestrained in the gloomy period of mediaeval per- 
secution, and to win back to the faith those whose affections had 
been estranged by the barbarous form in which it appeared to 
view. He erected at his own expense, and dedicated on July 17, 
1810, in the town of Seesen, a new temple, 1 at the same time in- 

1 The term Temple has since been used by the Reformers in con- 
tradistinction to the orthodox Synagogue. 


228 


APPENDIX. 


troducing certain radical modifications into the service which we 
shall presently take occasion to consider. 

Being appointed to the Presidency of the Consistory of Cas- 
sel, during the reign of Jerome Bonaparte, he took advantage of 
his official position to urge his innovations upon the congrega- 
tions under his charge. In 1815 he transplanted the “ new fash- 
ion in religion ” to Berlin, and in 1818 assisted in founding the 
temple at Hamburg, which soon became one of the leading 
strongholds of Reform. A provisional service on the same plan 
was likewise instituted at Leipsic, 1 during the period of the an- 
nual fair, and tidings of the reform were thus rapidly transmitted 
to distant parts of Germany. The main changes introduced by 
Jacobsohn, and copied by others, may be briefly summed up as 
follows : The introduction of regular weekly sermons, which had 
not previously been customary ; of prayers in the vernacular by 
the side of the Hebrew ; of choir singing with organ accompani- 
ment, and the confirmation of young children. These innova- 
tions implied a revolution in the character of the public worship. 

The Jewish people had been wont to regard themselves indi- 
vidually and collectively, as soldiers in the army of their God, 
commissioned to wage warfare against every species of false 
religion. A spirit of martial discipline, as it were, pervaded their 
ranks. The repetition of prayers and benedictions by day and 
night in the privacy of domestic life, on the public square and by 
the roadside, was a species of drill intended to keep alive in them 
the consciousness of their mission, and to prepare them for the 
emergencies of actual conflict. Thrice a day they mustered in 
their Synagogues, and renewed their oath of allegiance in the 
presence of their spiritual king. The term Jewish Church, 
though in frequent use, is a misnomer based upon false analogy. 
The difference between the synagogue and the church is as 
clearly marked as that between Judaism and Christianity them- 
selves. . The sentimental element, using the word in its nobler 
signification, which is distinctive of the latter, is almost entirely 
lacking in the former. Both make it their aim to elevate the 
moral life in man, but while Judaism acts through the will upon 

1 Dr. Zunz was appointed preacher, and the composer Meyerbeer 
directed the musical services. 


APPENDIX. 


229 


the affections, Christianity places the affections in the foreground 
and seeks by their means to persuade and captivate the will. 

It cannot be denied that the Reformers had in some measure 
modified the traditional character of Jewish worship. The purely 
emotional element acquired a prominence which it had never had 
before, the very word employed to designate the purpose of the 
temple service — “Erbauung,” edification — was foreign to the 
ancient vocabulary of Judaism. In another direction, too, they 
transgressed the limits prescribed by time-honored usage. We 
have referred above to the ceremony of confirmation, which has 
since been generally adopted by congregations of the Reform 
school. On some festival or Sabbath — the Feast of Weeks, cele- 
brated about Whitsuntide, being commonly preferred — boys and 
girls of thirteen or fourteen are assembled in the temple, where, 
after having undergone an examination in the chief tenets of their 
religion, they are required to repeat aloud a confession of faith. 
The ceremony usually attracts a large congregation, and is one 
of the few institutions introduced by the Reformers that have 
strongly seized upon the populai heart. 

The natural concern of parents for the welfare of their off- 
spring lends a solemn interest to the occasion. At an age when 
the child’s character begins to assume definite outlines, when the 
reason unfolds, and the perils and temptations that attend every 
pilgrim on the valley road of life, approach near, an instinctive 
prompting of the human heart leads us to forecast the future of 
sons and daughters, and to embrace with joy whatever means 
are placed at our disposal to guard them against aberration and 
misfortune. To utilize the impressiveness of a great public 
gathering, the sympathetic presence of parents and friends, the 
earnest monitions of a wise and revered teacher, in order to con- 
firm them in every virtuous endeavor and high resolve, is there- 
fore fit and proper . 1 The propriety of exacting a formal confes- 

1 It deserves to be noted that the ceremony of confirmation among 
the Jews took its origin in the schools of Seesen, Frankfort-on-the- 
Main, etc. Indeed, the first Reformed congregations were formed 
by natural accretion about these schools. The influence of schools in 
giving character and stability to new religious movements is a subject 
of sufficient importance to deserve separate treatment. 


230 


APPENDIX. 


sion of faith, however, has been hotly disputed both by the ortho- 
dox and the more advanced liberals. It is urged that Judaism 
is a practical, rather than a dogmatical religion. Even the ex- 
istence of a God is rather presupposed as a fact than asserted as 
a matter of belief. Apart from this it is claimed that a child at 
thirteen can hardly be prepared to comprehend the fundamental 
questions of religion, much less to express convictions on prob- 
lems so grave and difficult. The age of reflection and conse- 
quently of doubt is yet to come, nor can any child on the day of 
its confirmation answer for its convictions ten years thereafter. 

The progress of the Reform movement was thus of a char- 
acter to awaken distrust and fierce contention at every step. The 
conservative party were enraged at what they considered un- 
warrantable encroachments upon the traditions of an imme- 
morial past. The radicals were dissatisfied with the lack of 
substance and vitality in the teachings of the Reformers, the 
shallow moralizing tone of their preachers, the superficial views 
of Judaism which they scattered among the multitude. 

It may indeed be asked how could better things have been 
expected at that time. The great facts of Jewish history were 
not yet clearly known, the philosophy of Judaism was propor- 
tionately vague and uncertain. No Jewish author had ever un- 
dertaken to write out the annals of his people ; chaotic confusion 
reigned in their chronicles. To know what Judaism might be it 
seemed necessary to ascertain in the first instance what it had 
been ; the past would prove the index of the future. Untoward 
events that happened at this period gave a powerful impulse to 
historical research, and led to fruitful investigations in the do- 
main of Judaism. 


“HEP-HEP.” 

The great battles of 1813 and 1815, in which the German 
people regained their independence, effected a marvellous change 
in the spirits and sentiments of the nation. 

Accustomed for a long time to endure in silence the insults 
and arrogance of a foreign despot, they had learned to despair 
of themselves ; a deadly lethargy held their energies in bondage 
and in the fairy visions of poetry and the daring dreams of met- 


APPENDIX. 


231 


aphysical speculation they sought consolation for the pains and 
burdens of reality. The victories of Leipsic and Waterloo com- 
pletely altered the tone of their feelings. It is a not uncommon 
fact that individuals usually the reverse of self- asserting exhibit, 
on occasions, an overweening self-consciousness, which is all 
the more pointed and aggressive because of their secret and 
habitual self-distrust. We note with curious interest the recur- 
rence of the same obnoxious trait in the life of a great nation. 
The novel sense of power intoxicated them, the German mind 
for the moment lost its poise ; Romanticism flourished, the vio- 
lence of the Middle Ages was mistaken for manhood, and held 
up to the emulation of the present generation. Whatever was 
German was therefore esteemed good ; whatever was foreign was 
therefore despised, or at best ignored. 

The Jews were made to feel the sharp sting of this feverish 
vanity ; their Asiatic origin was cast up against them, though it 
might have been supposed that a residence of fifteen centuries 
had given them some claim to dwell at peace with the children 
of the soil. In the year 1819 the assassination of Kotzebue 
added fresh fuel to the fervor of Teutonic passion. In August 
of that year a professor of Wurzburg, who had written in de- 
fence of the Jews, was publicly insulted by the students. A 
tumult ensued, the cry “ Hep-Hep ” 1 arose on every side, and 
“ Death to the Jews ” was the watchword. On the next day the 
magistrate ordered them to leave Wurzburg, and four hundred 
in number they were driven beyond the city’s limits. Similar 
excesses occurred in Frankfort-on-the-Main, Meiningen, Carls- 
ruhe, and elsewhere. Inflammatory pamphlets contributed to 
increase the excitement. 

Grattenauer, Riihs, Fries, had written to good effect. All 
the old falsehoods were revived, the fable of the use of Christian 
blood at Passover among the rest. It seemed as though the 
genius of chivalry which the Romantic school had invoked had 
returned with its grim attendant train to renew the orgies of 

1 “ Hep-Hep ” has been explained as an abbreviation of the words 
“ Hierosolyma est perdita” (Jerusalem is perished). Probably it is 
no more than one of those meaningless exclamations which are not 
infrequent in college jargon. 


232 


APPENDIX. 


mediaeval persecution in the full light of the nineteenth century. 
In November appeared the “ Judenspiegel,” by Hundt-Rad- 
owsky. In this the author argues that the murder of a Jew is 
neither criminal nor sinful. In order to avoid unnecessary 
bloodshed however, he proposes a more peaceful means of rid- 
ding the German people of “these vermin.” His propositions, 
couched in plain language and delivered in sober earnest, are 
simply these : the men to be castrated, and sold as slaves to the 
East Indies ; the women — but the pen refuses to record the 
fiendish suggestion. It is mortifying to reflect that this infamous 
publication was widely circulated and eagerly read. 1 

THE SCIENCE OF JUDAISM. 

The sole reply which these occurrences elicited from the in- 
telligent members of the Jewish community was a more strenu- 
ous effort on their part to complete the work of inward purifica- 
tion, and renewed zeal in the study of their historic past. They 
trusted that the image of Judaism, if presented in its proper 
light, would remove the odium which rested upon their people, 
and would furthermore become their sure guide in the work of 
reconstructing the religion of their ancestors. 

Late in the year 1819 a “ Society for the Culture and Science 8 
of the Jews” was founded at Berlin. Its object was twofold: 
first to promote a more effective prosecution of the “ Science of 
Judaism ” ; secondly, to elevate the moral tone of the people, 
to counteract their prevailing bias toward commerce, and to en- 
courage them in the pursuits of agriculture, the trades, and such 
of the professions as they had access to. 

The science of Judaism embraces the departments of history, 
philosophy, and philology, the last being of special importance, 
since it presents the key to the correct understanding of the two 
former. The means adopted to secure these objects were chiefly 
three, — a scientific institute, a journal whose columns were en- 
riched by many contributions of enduring value, and a school in 

1 Graetz, Geschichte der Juden, X. p. 361. ■ 

8 Throughout this article we use the word “ science ” in the sense 
of the German Wissenschaft. 


APPENDIX. 


233 


which instruction was imparted gratis to poor students and arti- 
sans. Among the members of the society we mention Edward 
Gans, the President, afterwards Professor of Jurisprudence at 
the University of Berlin ; the eminent critic, Dr. Zunz ; the poet', 
Heinrich Heine ; 1 Moser ; the noble Wholwill ; and others. 

Unfortunately, the public mind was not yet prepared to ap- 
preciate the labors of these men ; the society languished for 
want of support, and after a few years its formal organization 
was dissolved. But in the brief term of its existence it had ac- 
complished its main object ; the science of Judaism was securely 
established, and it could safely be left to the industry of a few 
gifted individuals to cultivate and propagate it. The ten years 
following the “ Hep-Hep ” excitement witnessed a series of lit- 
erary achievements whose importance it would be difficult to 
overrate. Zunz and Rappoport, the pioneers of the new science, 
discovered the thread by which they were enabled to push their 
way through the labyrinth of Jewish literature. Profound eru- 
dition, critical acumen, and a subtle insight amounting almost 
to intuition, are displayed in their writings. A band of worthy 
disciples followed their lead. The chain of tradition, which had 
seemed hopelessly tangled, was unravelled I many of its missing 
links were ingeniously supplied, and the sequence of events, on 
the whole, satisfactorily determined. The dimness and vague- 
ness that had hung over the history of the Jews was giving way, 
and the leading figures in the procession of past generations 
assumed clear and distinct outlines. At this time Jost was em- 
ployed in wirting the first connected history of his people which 
had ever emanated from Jewish sources. 

SCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY. 

While scholars were thus busy preparing the way for a new 
theory of Judaism based on the facts of its history, no efforts 
were made to press the needful work of practical reform. In- 
deed, the hostile attitude of the temporal rulers discouraged any 

1 Heine was for some time an instructor in the society’s school. 
For an account of the Cultur- Verein , and of the poet’s cordial interest 
in its success, vide Strodtmann, “ Heine’s Leben und Werke,” p. 237. 


234 


APPENDIX. 


such undertaking. The influence of Metternich swayed the 
councils of the German princes. The King of Prussia had 
broken the promise of constitutional government which he had 
given to his people in the hour of need. The power of the 
Triple Alliance was prepared to crush out the faintest stirrings 
of political or religious liberty wherever they appeared. 

In 1830, however, the revolution in France swept away a 
second time the throne of the Bourbons, and changed the face 
of affairs. The courage of the liberal party revived everywhere ; 
the bonds of despotism were relaxed ; a spirit of resistance to 
oppression arose, and grew in intensity from year to year, until 
it at last found vent in the convulsions of 1848. The Jews felt 
the prophetic promise of a better order of things, and roused 
themselves to renewed exertions. 

We have indicated in a previous article that the cause of 
political and of religious emancipation, so far at least as Ger- 
many was concerned, advanced in parallel lines. In 1831 Ga- 
briel Riesser addressed a manifesto to the German people on the 
position of the Jews among them. 1 ^ It was a clear and forcible 
presentment of the case. The style is dignified, free from the 
taint of undue self-assertion, and equally free from misplaced, 
modesty. He did not petition for a favor ; he demanded a right. 
He disdained all measures of compromise ; he dared to treat the 
question as one of national importance ; he asked for simple 
justice, and would be content with nothing less. The German 
people rewarded his manliness with their confidence, 2 and under 
his able leadership the struggle for emancipation was finally 
brought to a triumphant close. 

In 1835 Abraham Geiger, then Rabbi of Wiesbaden, began the 
publication of a “Scientific Journal for Jewish Theology,” and 
with the appearance of this periodical the Reform movement 
entered into its present phase. It was the purpose of Geiger 
and his coadjutors to prosecute the work of religious renovation 
on the basis of the science of Judaism. This is the distinguish- 

1 Ueber die Stellung der Bekenner des Mosaischen Glaubens an 
die Deutschen aller Confessionen. Riesser’s Works, II. 

2 He was elected Vice-President of the first German Parliament 
that met in the Pauls-Kirche in Frankfort. 


APPENDIX. 


235 


ingT Mature of the modern school of Jewish Reform. But, be- 
fore we proceed to sketch the principles of these “ scientific 
theologians, let us rapidly advert to the brief series of events 
that mark the outward development of the new school. 

Around the standard which Geiger had unfurled a body of 
earnest men soon collected, who agreed with him in the main 
in desiring to reconcile science and life ( Wissenschaft und 
Leben). They were mostly young men, fresh from the univer- 
sities, profoundly versed in Hebrew and rabbinic lore, zealous 
lovers of their religion, equipped with the elements of ancient 
and modern culture, and anxious to harmonize the conflicting 
claims of both in their private lives and public station. Many 
of them underwent severe privations for their convictions' sake. 
They were distrusted by the various governments, without whose 
sanction no Jewish clergyman could enter upon his functions, 
and were made to feel, in common with other Liberals, the dis r 
pleasure which their measures, moderate though they were, had 
provoked in high quarters. They were subjected to numberless 
petty annoyances, and even downright force was employed to 
check their growing popularity. With the accession of Freder- 
ick William IV., the Ultramontanes and the party of retrogres- 
sion in the Protestant Church completely gained the ascendant. 

Covered by the shield of royal favor they offered the most 
audacious insults to the conscience and common-sense of the 
people, the right of free speech was impaired, the press was 
shackled, while the most abject superstitions were openly en- 
couraged. The holy coat of Jesus, exhibited at the cathedral of 
Treves, attracted hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, and the 
fame of the miraculous cures it had effected was diligently spread. 
But the very violence of the extremists provoked a determined 
opposition among the intelligent classes. National unity and 
individual liberty w r ere loudly demanded, a German Catholic 
party was formed with the avowed object of reorganizing Cath- 
olicism on the basis of the modern State. Free religious con- 
gregations began to crop up here and there, which, though fee- 
ble as yet in their organization, w r ere properly regarded as sig- 
nificant of the spirit of the times. On the waves of the turning 
tide the young Rabbis were carried along. They, too, were 


236 


APPENDIX. 


ardent patriots ; they, too, were eager to see their religion wed- 
ded to the progressive tendencies of the age. The sympathies 
of the most enlightened of their brethren were cheerfully ex- 
tended to them, and high hopes were founded on their success. 

In 1844 they were sufficiently strong to meet in convention. 
Disclaiming the functions of a religious synod, they assumed the 
character of a scientific body, assembled to promote the objects 
of truth in their special department. The discussions were in- 
deed intended to secure harmony of sentiment and action, but 
the resolutions adopted were binding neither upon the members 
themselves nor upon the congregations they represented. Three 
times these conventions were repeated at Brunswick, Frankfort, 
and Breslau. 

In 1845 a new congregation was formed, called “ The Re- 
form Association of Berlin,” which was recruited from the ex- 
treme left wing of the liberal Jewish party. This congregation 
became noted for the introduction of a Sunday service, a meas- 
ure which eventually compelled them to entirely abandon the 
Jewish Sabbath. Samuel Holdheim, the ablest exponent of 
radical Judaism, was selected to be their preacher. 

Thus far had the Reform movement proceeded, when, in 
1848, the incidents of a great political revolution crowded every 
other issue into comparative insignificance. The fall of Metter- 
nich before the intrigues of the camarilla and the fury of a pop- 
ular uprising, the humiliation of the king of Prussia, the convo- 
cation of the national parliament, the Baden insurrection, — these 
were the events that absorbed the interest of the public. Politi- 
cal incompetency on the part of the leaders precipitated the 
catastrophe of the revolution, and the hopes of the German 
people were again doomed to disappointment. Soon the reac- 
tion set in, a dreary period of stagnation followed, and the efforts 
of the friends of freedom were paralyzed. 

The Jewish Reformers were stricken down by the general 
reverse that had overtaken the liberal party, nor have they since 
been able to recover from its stunning effects. Two revolutions, 
those of 1830 and 1848, mark the growth and the decline of 
“scientific reform.” Within the past thirty years a number of 
prominent reformers have been called to this country, and to 
them is due the spread of the movement in the United States. 


APPENDIX. 


237 


The difficulties which confronted them here were of the most 
formidable kind. The great bulk of the Jewish emigration to 
the United States were originally drawn from the village con- 
gregations of the Fatherland, and were by no means fair speci- 
mens of the intelligence and culture of the Jewish race. While 
they displayed the qualities of energy, perseverance, and thrift, 
and soon acquired wealth and influence in the commercial world, 
few only were fitted to appreciate a movement so thoroughly 
intellectual in. its bearings as that which the reformers came to 
propagate amongst them. The mere externals of reform were 
readily adopted, but its spiritual essence escaped them. Ac- 
cordingly, the development of Reformed Judaism on American 
soil presents no novel or striking features for our consideration, 
and it may appropriately be treated as a mere offshoot of the 
German stock. 

PRINCIPLES. 

Ever since the appearance of Geiger’s “ Scientific Journal,” 
Jewish philology and Jewish theology have been inseparably con- 
nected. To attempt a detailed account of the latter would involve 
the necessity of frequent reference to the former, an attempt in 
which we can hardly assume the reader’s interest would bear us 
out. Unwilling to test his patience by such a course, we shall 
content ourselves with stating the main principles of Reformed 
Judaism, and briefly indicating the successive steps by which it 
advanced to its present positions. 

The one great fact which the Science of Judaism has indis- 
putably established was the fact of evolution in the sphere of the 
Jewish religion. Each generation had legislated for itself. The 
authorities of the Middle Ages had introduced changes in the 
ritual ; the Talmud itself, that corner-stone of orthodoxy, was a 
stupendous innovation on the simplicity of Bible rthe eligion. 1 
Applying the theory of evolution to their own case, the modern 

1 The theory of an Oral Law, delivered to Moses on Sinai and 
handed down from generation to generation, until it was finally em- 
bodied in the ordinance of the Talmudical academies, is a palpable 
fiction, invented by the Talmudists in order to lend to their own de- 
cisions the sanction of Divine authorship. 


238 


APPENDIX. 


Rabbis assumed on their part the right to institute whatever 
changes the exigencies of the age had rendered imperative. The 
very fact of change, it is true, presupposes the existence of a sub- 
stratum that remains unchangeable. What that substratum in 
the case of Judaism is claimed to be, we shall presently discover. 
The measures of the Reformers w r ere in the main dictated by the 
sentiment of patriotism and the desire to remove the barriers that 
interposed between them and their fellow-men. They would 
cease to be a “state within the state,” cease to separate them- 
selves from the fellowship of the Gentiles. Hence the leading 
proposition upon which Reformed Judaism is founded. The 
Jewish people have ceased to be a national unit , and will exist 
hereafter as a confederation of religious societies . 

If the Jews have ceased to be a nation, then the Reformers 
must abandon the idea of a national restoration. They did so. 
If they have ceased to be a nation, they must give up the hope 
of a personal Messiah who should lead them back to the prom- 
ised land. They did so. If they desired no longer to dwell in 
seclusion they must abolish the dietary laws, which forbid them 
to taste of the food of Christians, though commanded by the 
Talmud and founded apparently on the authority of Moses. 
This, too, they were willing to do. Other changes were inspired 
by the philosophic teachings of the day, and were undertaken 
with equal readiness. Thus the doctrine of resurrection in the 
flesh was set aside. The fabric of ceremonial observances had 
been rudely shaken, and soon gave way altogether. Changes in 
the ritual followed. The prayer-book reflected the gloomy spirit 
of a people whose life was embittered by constant trials and dan- 
gers. Naturally they had turned to the past and the glories of 
Zion ; the pomp of the sacrifices, the advent of the Messiah, the 
future restoration of the kingdom of David, were the themes on 
which they loved to dwell. All this was no longer suited to the 
temper of the modern Jews, and radical alterations became ne- 
cessary. Many of the festivals and fast-days also were struck 
from the calendar. One of the most distinctive customs of the 
Jews, the so-called rite of Abraham’s Covenant, was boldly 
attacked, and though the abolition of this ancient practice is still 
strenuously resisted, there is little doubt that it will ultimately go 


APPENDIX. 239 

with the rest. Samuel Holdheim advocated the propriety of in- 
termarriage between Jews and Christians. 

The manner in which these conclusions were reached may be 
described as follows. At first an attempt was made to found 
each new measure of Reform on the authority of the Talmud. 
The Talmud was attacked with its own weapons. The fallacy 
of such a method becoming apparent, the authority of the Tal- 
mud was entirely set aside. A return to the Bible was next in 
order. But even the laws of the Bible proved to be no longer 
capable of fulfilment in their totality. A distinction was there- 
fore drawn between the letter and the spirit of the Bible. The 
letter is man’s handiwork, the spirit alone ought to be regarded 
as the Divine rule of faith. The “ spirit of the Bible ” is the es- 
sence of Judaism, which cannot change. In the process of evo- 
lution it constantly assumes new forms, but remains substantially 
the same. Nor could any motives of expediency, nor could even 
the ardent desire of political emancipation have induced the Re- 
formers to pursue the course they did, had they for one moment 
believed it contrary to the substantial teachings of the Bible. 
The spirit of the Bible is expressed in two fundamental proposi- 
tions : the existence of one God, the author and governor of the 
universe ; and the Messianic mission of the people of Israel. 
The former is no longer the exclusive property of Judaism, the 
latter is distinctively its own ; both together express the simple 
creed of the Reformers. 


PROSPECTS. 

If now we cast a glance upon the present aspect of Reformed 
Judaism we are confronted by a state of affairs that by no means 
corresponds to the great anticipations which were connected with 
the movement in its earlier stages. The ancient institutions have 
been cleared away, — that was unavoidable ; they had long been 
tottering to their ruin, — but an adequate substitute for what was 
taken has not been provided. The leaders have penetrated to 
the foundations of their religion, but upon these bare foundations 
they have erected what is at best a mere temporary structure in- 
capable of affording them permanent shelter and protection. The 
temper of the Reform school has been critical. Its members were 


240 


APPENDIX. 


admirably fitted to analyze and to dissect ; their scholarship is un- 
questionably great ; the stainless purity of their lives has elevated 
the character of their people and entitled them to sincere respect. 
But they lacked the constructive genius needed for the creation 
of new institutions. In the year 1822 Wholwill declared that 
“ the Jews must raise themselves and their principle to the level 
of science. Science is the one bond that alone can unite the whole 
human race.” The emphasis thus placed on science has con- 
tinued to distinguish the Reform movement down to the present 
day. In the sphere of religion, however, it is not sufficient to 
apprehend the abstract truth of ideas with the help of intellect, 
but it is necessary to array these ideas in concrete forms, in order 
that they may warm the heart and stimulate the will. 

We hold it erroneous to believe that the age of symbolism is 
passed. The province of religion is to bring the human soul into 
communion with the Infinite. In the lower religions the concep- 
tion of the Infinite was meagre and insufficient and the symbols 
in use proportionately gross. At the present day it is the ideal 
of moral perfection that alone is capable of exciting our devotion 
and kindling our enthusiasm. Now it is true that the material 
symbolism of the churches and the synagogues, the venerabile, 
the bread and wine, the scrolls of the Pentateuch tricked out in 
fanciful vestments, fail to appeal to the sympathies of many edu- 
cated men and women of our time ; not, however, because they 
are symbols, but because they are inadequate symbols, because 
of an almost painful disparity between their earthy origin and the 
vastness of the spiritual ideas which they are intended to suggest. 
There is, on the other hand,- a species of symbolism peculiarly 
adapted to the needs of the present generation, and which, if 
properly understood, might be employed to incalculable advan- 
tage in the interest of a revival of the religious sentiment. We 
allude to the symbolism of association. 

The tendency to associate the efforts of individuals in corpo- 
rate action has never been more markedly displayed than in our 
own day. So long as such associations confine themselves to 
certain finite objects, they are mere social engines organized with 
a view to utility and power, and with such we are not concerned. 
The characteristic of symbols is their suggestiveness. They 


APPENDIX. 


241 


have a meaning in themselves, but they suggest illimitable mean- 
ings beyond their scope. Now a form of organization is not only 
conceivable, but has actually been attempted, that fully meets the 
requirements of the symbolic character. The Christian Church 
is designed to be such an organization. Not only does it propose 
to unite its members and to satisfy their spiritual needs during 
the term of their sojourn on earth, but it aspires to typify the 
union of all saints under the sovereignty of Jesus, and thus to 
give to the believer a presentiment of the felicity and perfection 
of the higher world. In like manner the Hebrews have been 
acquainted with the symbolism of association from a very early 
period of their history. If they delight to style themselves the 
chosen people, the meaning of that phrase, so often misunder- 
stood, is purely symbolical. 

Recognizing the fact that the majority of mankind are at no 
time prepared to entertain the ideals of the few. they undertook 
to work out among themselves a nobler conception of religion 
and a loftier morality, trusting that the force of their example 
would in the end bring about the universal adoption of their 
faith and ethical code. In this sense the choice of Israel was in- 
terpreted by the Prophets. They believed that their selection by 
the Deity imposed upon them heavier responsibilities, and re- 
garded it in the light of an obligation rather than a privilege. 
What the statue is to the ideal of beauty, a whole people resolved 
to be in relation to the ideal of the good. The same conception 
still dominates the thoughts of the Reformers, and is expressed by 
them in their doctrine of Israel’s messianic mission. They claim 
that the Jews have been for the past three thousand years the 
“ Swiss guard of monotheism.” They still believe themselves 
to be the typical people, and their firm persuasion on this head 
is the one strong feature of the Reformers’ creed. If they will 
use their world-wide association to illustrate anew the virtues 
for which their race became renowned in the past, — and we refer 
especially to the purity of the sexual relations among them, their 
pious reverence for domestic ties, — they may still become, as 
they aspire to do, exemplars of purity to be joyfully imitated by 
others. If they will use it in the spirit of their ancient lawgiver 

1 Leviticus xxv. 8. 


II 


242 


APPENDIX. 


to tone down the harsh distinctions of wealth and poverty, to 
establish juster relations between the strong- and weak, in brief, 
to harmonize the social antagonisms of modern life, they may 
confer an inestimable benefit upon mankind. But the man- 
ner in which the symbolism of association might be applied to 
invigorate the religious sentiment, and to expel the coldness of 
the times by the fervor of a new enthusiasm, is a subject of too 
vast dimensions to be thus summarily despatched, and we shall 
hope to recur to it on some future occasion . 1 

The present condition of liberal Judaism is strongly akin to 
that of liberal Christianity. The old is dead, the new has not 
been born. It is hardly safe to predict what possible develop- 
ments the future may yet have in store. As regards the Jews, 
however, it is right to add that such changes as have taken 
place in the constitution of their religion have not brought them 
in any sense nearer to Christianity. On the contrary, since the 
belief in a personal Messiah has been dropped, the hope of their 
conversion has become more vague and visionary than ever. 
Those whom the worship of the synagogue and the temple no 
longer attracts either become wholly sceptical and indifferent, or, 
as is often the case, transfer their allegiance to the new humani- 
tarian doctrine which is fast assuming the character of a religion 
in the ardor it inspires and the strong spiritual union it cements. 
For the great body of the Jews, however, the central doctrine of 
Judaism remains unshaken, and doubtless, so long as Christi- 
anity exists, Judaism as a distinct creed will coexist with it. The 
modern Jews, like their ancestors, believe that their mission is 
not yet ended, and they await with patience the rising of some 
new man of genius amongst them, who will combine the quali- 
ties of the popular leader with the attributes of the scholar, and 
will give body and form to the ideas elaborated by the Reform- 
ers. As a religious society they desire to remain distinct. But 
as citizens, they are eager to remove whatever distinctions still 
hamper their intercourse with their neighbors of other creeds. 
Never has the desire to return to Palestine and retrieve their 
lost nationality been more foreign to their sentiments than at the 
present day, though recent speculations have misled many to 

1 In an article on the religious aspects of the social question. 


APPENDIX. 


243 


believe otherwise. They know they can no more return thither. 
They would not if they could. They love the land of their birth ; 
they wish to join their labors with those of others in promoting 
the progress of the entire human race. They have ceased to 
regret the past, and desire nothing more earnestly than to live 
in the present and for the future. 



















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